Search Amid the Squalor

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]
Location: Coruscant underworld

Jyfo shivered and pulled his hood over his head. The grim, dimly lit alleyway stank of the feces of a thousand species from a thousand worlds, and it probably wasn't far from the truth. Creatures of all kinds strode to and fro, from miniature animals to hulking behemoths who Jyfo certainly did not want to mess with. Most walked right by without glancing at him, much to his appreciation. He had one mission here, and that was to find an Ithorian by the name of Ik ul-Raa. After a ... difficult interrogation with a crime lord, Jyfo had been lead here. It was almost a year into the search for his past, and still he knew next to nothing. It was beyond frustrating, but Jyfo would find this alien and do whatever it took to squeeze the information from him.

A thin, wiry Rodian bumped into him, sending his deep thoughts scattering. Quickly checking that his lightsaber was still firmly secured and not in the hands of a possible pickpocket, Jyfo continued forward. He tried to reach out with the Force to scan for ul-Raa, but his vision was clouded. There were simply too many life-forms here. Sighing, Jyfo trudged onwards. He would find this Ithorian.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

[member="Jyfo"]

​

Been around a long time, me – and you know what I’ve found the difference is between the Jedi and the self-proclaimed Sith, like?

The Jedi are blissfully ignorant of the sweatshop labor that tailors their sportswear.​

The "Sith"? They know, they just don’t care.​

If there’s a functional difference there, mate, well…I don’t karking see it.​

The funny thing about the Coruscant Underworld is that compromises more than 90% of Coruscant. So, really, in actuality it isn’t the “Underworld” at all. It’s what Coruscant is.

And the surface? That’s the Coruscant Lie. The big, danging light floating just above the craggy jaws of an angler in the pitch black, soul-crushing nothing of space.

Coruscant is not simply a planet, but a Hell for anyone who dare believe in Hope in a dying galaxy.

Benedict had thought he had washed his hands of the place, but there were really no such thing. Its mythological resonance was too powerful, a story with all other stories inside it. It spoke to every fathomable problem there ever was and ever would be, and there could be no progress until the Coruscant situation was resolved.

So, here he was, once again in the lower sectors, brooding under a dimly lit streetlight, his back propped against the cab of his perennial associate and friend, Demarcus Voidstrider. They were listening to music as it lilted from the car radio.

“Nice tune. Real easy,” the Trenchcoat Man remarked, pulling on his cigarette.

"Yep," the cabbie confirmed.

“Occupationally appropriate, too, ennit?”

“Oh, kark off.”

Benedict snickered, flicking the spent fixation into one of Coruscant’s famous underground puddles of unknown nature.

“Gotta fare,” Dermarcus said, slapping his door. Benedict stood from his lean, casting a half-arsed wave farewell as Voidstrider drove off to work.

Which was fine. By that pull of the synchronicity wave, the Guttermage had a hunch he had work to do, too.

Can’t you see the detour ahead?​

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]
Jyfo scowled. The sun had risen and set; though it made no difference here at the surface of the planet. Here it was almost eternally dim, unless the sun was directly overhead. Like a jungle canopy, skyscrapers higher than the eye could see stretched forth, blocking the sun. And still he had found nothing; not even a trace of the Ithorian.
Resting on a public bench, Jyfo sat and closed his eyes. It was often in the midst of his trials that he would forget to consult the omnipresent energy field that binds the universe together. He felt peace slowly return to him. Silence filled his mind, even among the roar of speeders and aircraft overhead. He meditated.
There. The slightest glimpse of a trail. Jyfo instantly sprung forward and jogged down the street, taking a sharp turn into a crusty alleyway. I can feel something. I don't know exactly what, but . . . this has to be it. Shoving a slow-moving drunkard out of the way, Jyfo sprinted further into the dark recesses of the underbelly of Coruscant.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

Coruscant
Level 1314
[member="Jyfo"]

Bent and gnarled like a tree branch, it reached forward, setting a little stone rancor statuette upon a black tile.

Benedict canted his head to the side, watching like a curious puppy. He didn’t quite understand the strategy.

It had lead him here – the uncertain pull of coincidence, that turning of cogs in the beautiful machine. To this place that had once been a public park, way back when this level of Coruscant was at the top, the future looking bright ahead. What a decadent fool it must have been.

These days, the flora had all dried up, stolen and thrown away. All that remained were ruins of a fountain, its former monument dilapidated beyond recognition. Framing the edges was the occasional dejarik board, standing in defiance of time in order to tell the tale. To serve as memento mori.

His air smug, the old dug with the fu Manchu dropped the little dianoga figurine on the square adjacent to the rancor, the implication of victory heavy on his open-mouthed smile.

And yet, there was a chortle, resounding out both sides of the wizened Ithorian’s neck. Once more, with long, brittle, bulbed fingers, he placed a second beast. A terantatek.

The Trenchcoat Man blinked, passively absorbing the scene. The dug groaned in disappointment.

Across the street, a crosswalk bid non-existent pedestrians “Don’t Walk,” lest they be squashed by imaginary traffic.

Benedict just didn't quite understand the strategy.

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

Slightly panting from the extended sprint, Jyfo turned a corner and slowed. In front of him lay the mostly abandoned ruins of a park of some sorts. Mostly abandoned, because a few somewhat-intact dejarik boards were scattered around, occassionally drawing players, like today. Eyes sweeping the area, Jyfo fixated his attention on the players. One dug, and one . . . Ithorian. This had to be his lead.

Once again checking his lightsaber, Jyfo gritted his teeth and slowly approached the table, robes flapping with each gust of wind. The Ithorian had just played a winning move, and the dug didn't like it one bit, spitting out what would no doubt be a string of profanities in its language. The Ithorian simply sat back and chuckled through the sides of its throat.

Jyfo reached the table and tapped the Ithorian's shoulder. "Ik ul-Raa. If you value your petty life, you will come with me." Jyfo adjusted his cloak so that the handle of his lightsaber gleamed in the streetlight. The Ithorian looked bewildered and slowly rose. Jyfo gave him a shove towards an adjacent alley.

Emotions welled up inside of him. Confusion, anger, satisfaction. This could be the missing piece. The link to Jyfo's forgotten past; the past he had no memory of, of who he was, where he came from.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

Fact was, these kinds of altercations weren’t uncommon when you had an entire planetary population – multiplied well-beyond the means of the ecosystem – living all over each other. Bar fights, drug debts, custody disputes – more reports than local law enforcement could file. So they didn’t. They didn’t even come down here anymore. So. Natural Justice it is, then.

Still, Benedict couldn’t buck the fact that the city told him to be here. To bear witness to this event. To, perhaps, prevent it. His eyebrows furrowed in contemplation as he watched the shakedown, mitten-ed fingers instinctively rifling his pockets to produce a carton of Gunga-algae tobacco cigarettes. Shaking one free, he would light the tip and do that whole damn thing.

The dug, though bitter in his defeat, was not eager to see his friend go down before he could get his rematch. He shouted at Jyfo, threatening him in response.
“Fool-boy – You not know where you is, do you?,” the dug pushed up on his park stool, raising himself higher. With his foot, he pointed in accusation with his index toe. “You leave that man alone, o’ Band-aid Nose Man come for you, fool-boy.”

Karking…’Band-aid Nose Man’?

The price of being both nameless and infamous, Benedict figured, opting not to sweat the mutation of his local legend too much. The spirit was the same, really. Benedict looked to @Lyfo, tossing him a nod all ‘Yeah, that’s me, mother-effer.”

Then flicked his arm to the side, that old familiar snap-hiss of a yellow lightsaber…

…with its battery, hanging dangerously out the bottom of the hilt. The blade hummed and whirred, struggling to stay lit as it periodically collapsed, reignited, and then collapsed again.

An untrustworthy instrument, if ever there was one.

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

The crackling of a lightsaber quickly caught Jyfo's attention. He turned around, one arm holding the Ithorian, the other reaching to his belt if either the Dug or the man he had not noticed at first tried to attack him. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the man, assessing threats, posture, demeanor, Jyfo couldn't help but raise an eye at the man's excuse for a saber. It continually shone with bright intensity, dimmed, turned off, then repeated the process.

"I have no quarrel with you, friend. I do, however, have a necessity to . . . speak with this fine gentleman here."Jyfo casually squeezed ul-Raa's shoulder. "I'd prefer not to make things messy."

Jyfo casually snatched his own lightsaber from his belt and ignited it, the amber blade humming softly as it was held aloft. "Now, if you will leave me be..."

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

“You can…,” Benedict made a show of emphasizing the pause, transforming even the silence of delay into something sarcastic. “…speak out here, mate”

He took a drag off his cigarette, letting the moment land. The dug was assisting in the antagonizing, laughing about the premise of anyone fearing “messy” in a place where trash and human turd were regular pavement fixtures.

“Just where the kark you fink it is you are, son?”,he echoed the dug, Benedict’s own tone, however, more incredulous, but also…less rhetorical. A twinge of compassion. Maybe. If [member="Jyfo"] played his cards right, anyway. The Trenchcoat Man could see it, awash in indigo -- Those subtle, tenuous connections drawing the Force-User and the Ithorian together.

The especially emotional nature of the situation.

“Reckon we ain’t seen a bloke get muscled over before, yeah?,” he cut through the façade, setting the cig back between his teeth. “You tit – Kark off out of it –“

There was a hum, a slow start-up building into a consistent buzz. The mantras of window-mounted air conditioner units, all cooling at once, the more poorly-secured rattling through their meditations. It started a movement, apparently -- The scene that had initially occurred in relative silence was now teeming with noise. Speeder horns, conversation, ghetto-blasters pumping music into the alley below.

Benedict grinned knowingly, claiming responsibility for this show of force.

“—while you're still able.”

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

Jyfo sighed. It was difficult enough to have had to track down this scum of an Ithurian; now, this dug and human threatening him really pushed his mood into the negatives. He felt his consciousness trickle slowly from the light to the dark; anger, annoyance, impatience filled his thoughts. Careful now, Jyfo thought to himself. Can't go overboard with this.

A sudden flare of Force energy caught Jyfo's attention, emanating from the human - Band-aid Nose Man, was it? An awfully odd name, even among the deepest reaches of the underworld. Perhaps this man had more to him than an attitude and a malfunctioning saber.

Nevertheless, Jyfo was tired of the discourse. If this goes sour, I still need to have ul-Raa - that is most imperative. These other two . . . not so much.

Whirling around, Jyfo stretched out his arm and placed his palm on the Ithorian's face, releasing a burst of energy into the creature's mind. It let loose a strangled cry and collapsed onto the pavement. At least he won't be going anywhere, now. ul-Raa would probably regain consciousness in a few hours.

Turning back to the Dug and Band-aid Nose Man, Jyfo gripped his saber tightly in his right hand. "I'd really not prefer to have any more deaths on my hands than I need to - but you must understand how important this is. Leave now, or engage me in combat." Jyfo would let the two decide.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

The hostage situation was bunk. That went without saying. You don’t descend into the bowels of Coruscant just to kill a hapless nobody. You don’t forfeit a wealth of information just because the locals get froggy.

However, the kid folded his cards before Benedict really even had the chance to call his bluff. Give ‘em credit -- [member="Jyfo"] wasn’t a born liar. The Trenchcoat Man wondered idly if the kid was a born “anything,” the outsider’s temperament as unstable as the Betrayer’s lightsaber blade.

Was he a brute or a diplomat? Did he know anymore?

Benedict got his answer in the form of an incapacitated Ithorian. The dejarik master had barely begun to buckle before the Guttermage dashed forward, the lightsaber blade now noticeably absent in the charge. The assailant seemed unabashed by this glaring oversight in his offense, his defense.

“Go on, then,” he taunted, teeth clenched around his cigarette. There was a sharp inhale of his smog, clearly exerting himself as he appeared to leap with all he could muster -- having to close quite a bit of distance between himself and Jyfo. Utter garbage with the Shii-Cho, he telegraphed preparation for a high, horizontal slash presumably to Jyfo’s face (as the two had a height discrepancy), the lightblade snap-hissing back into competency.

“Oh chit!,” shouted the dug. “*Rattle, rattle*,” sounded the sky; reiterated Benedict's back pocket. “~Danger!,~” cautioned Force Intuition.

But the crosswalk simply stated: Walk.

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

Well, that settled it, then.

A fight it would be. If the shorted lightsaber had any indicator of the Force-user's skill, then this would be a quick fight. But Jyfo wasn't prepared to take a confidence risk and take his opponent lightly. Even the trash here on Coruscant could hold treasures, and for all he knew this interloper could be trained even better than Jyfo had.

Then again, Jyfo could remember nothing of his training. He was sure to have had a master at one point, but . . . why in the name of the Force couldn't he remember?

Gritting his teeth, Jyfo raised his lightsaber in defense. Flashes from unknown origin flashed through his mind. Analyze your opponent's stance. Are they trained, untrained? Know your environment. Use it to your advantage; there is no such thing as a fair fight. Fair fights are for those who wish to die.

By the Force, he needed to focus. His opponent had reared back for a high strike, and Jyfo mentally mapped his motions to transition from offense to defense. He was ready.

Snapping his lightsaber up, Jyfo swatted the attack away with some effort. In return, Jyfo prepared to test his opponent's speed with a flurry of strikes, intending to stop his momentum and push him backwards.

Snarling, Jyfo struck out with a downward strike from above to begin his assault.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

[member=Jyfo]

Here I go again, yeah? Mixing meself up in somefing right nasty, getting good and pissed off about it.

It was a feint. The Trenchcoat Man, a non-traditional Force User of broken ability, lacked the aptitude for a Force Jump. He instead came down a foot or so before Jyfo, his blade lashing out only to be swatted away by the defender. Benedict’s arm was cast back from the momentum (though he retained control of the blade) as though it lacked commitment to the strike. After all, it wasn’t the actual attack.


‘Course, this ain’t an atypical night for Coruscant. Just two blocks down, right yeah, some berk’s crouched in an alley wiff his guts in his fingers, a cactus full of pissdrugs smuggled off in a pair of red hands.

The apparent source of the rattling made itself known as it came down, an air conditioner unit, tumbling from a window sill over Jyfo’s head, hurtling down towards the half-in, half-out Jedi.

Just one down from the surface, a young copper aids his new workmates in “welcoming” an “alien” to her middle class neighborhood and questions just where it was the job he imagined as a lad began to deviate from the reality of the one he’s working now. Meanwhile, down on the 666, a Cthon claws the eyes out of an already tongueless skrall, the rat bastard airing its ill-fortune in one awkward, mongoloid scream.

“Careful, petal,” Benedict chided, grinning smugly. His skin flushed pink as Zeltron pheromones hit the air, fueling anxiety and chagrin through one-way emotional contagion; a slow, degenerative attack on Jyfo’s self-control. He raised his lightsaber in defense, the inconsistent blade batting at the flurry as it could, missing entirely as it couldn’t, both efforts completely undermined by the fact that, the whole time, Benedict was double back, all but retreating from the fight as he reversed toward the road.

And on the 1414, this exact same fing is occurring between two other magickal sorts, like. Honest, guv. The very same.

Benedict pressed forward and to Jyfo’s right, raising his disengaged hilt horizontally to passively block the stroke. The blade never reignited, though, curiously, Benedict's battle posture was already one of evasion. He had turned his form perpendicular to Lyfo's...

Keeps me blood flowing. Vintage me, this really karking is.

....and slammed his boot down, the intent to smash his toes.

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

It was working, so far. Jyfo's swift counter had set the hostile on the retreat, hoping to batter away his blows with that horrid lightsaber of his. Jyfo had just intended to smash the man's kneecap with his foot, as they were quite close in distance, when something in his mind twitched, as if in alert.

Dive.

Not hesitating, Jyfo immediately switched off his lightsaber and hurtled away from his opponent and rolled on the pavement; a jarring, bruising roll, but an effective escape nonetheless. Mere moments later an air conditioning unit of some sort crashed in the spot where he was just fighting. I'll give that to him, that was clever.

Rising to his feet, Jyfo scowled and reignited his yellow blade. I'll have to be a bit more careful, I suppose. That's when the thought for a new angle of attack struck him.

Careful to not draw in too much of the ominous and oppressive dark side, Jyfo gritted his teeth and felt the Force flow to his fingertips, manifesting into crackling electricity. Outstretching his arms towards Benedict, he released the pent-up Force energy, sending it spiraling towards him. He'd better hope his lightsaber will stay on, Jyfo thought while casting the bolts.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

[member="Jyfo"]

Benedict saw the charge up and visible tensed; another heavy draw on the cigarette. Charred, a trail of ash tumbled to the ground, smoldering all the way down to the filter as the electricity began to arc through the Guttermage, the voltage increasing as his Zeltron manipulation upped Jyfo’s rage. “Krrrr…”

His teeth clenched, biting through the cigarette…biting through the cigarette in a broad, unmistakable grin. “Kinell.”

There was a loud, audible noise – like a spring being sprung-- as the lighting pushed through the inky gears of the Pride of the Poisoner tattoo etched onto Benedict’s back. Extending his deactivated lightsaber, he took control of the Jyfo's lighting, warping it into a sickly green colour, polluting his energy, poisoning the lad’s soul; his very connection to the Force.

“I do believe you’re nicked, son,” he cackled, looming, spitting the filter leavings onto the ground. Benedict’s lightsaber ignited in that fluttering hum.

 

[Jyfo]

[member="Trenchcoat Man"]

Something wasn't quite right. No normal opponent could simply take lightning like that and still be on their feet - alive, even - yet, there Benedict stood, unfazed and -

-By the Force, what was that?

Jyfo's vision tunneled for a moment, peripherals gone and then back. At once halting his electric attack, Jyfo recoiled, stumbling backwards. His head pounded, and he started to feel sick to his stomach. Some Nightsister -agh- level sorcery; obviously not much of a -oh, kark- conventional fighter.

Kneeling on the ground, Jyfo lifted his head and cursed. I'm wasting my time here. I can't fight him in his territory, and expect an easy win. Yet, was it a win he was after? No, not really; he was after an alien scumbag who held vital information.

Time to redirect priorities. Panting as the sickness caressed his brain, Jyfo slowly stood and faced his opponent. A humbling experience, but not one he was willing to lose an arm and a leg over. Gesturing towards Benedict with a mock bow, Jyfo began to back away toward the crumpled Ithorian. "As much as I enjoyed sparring with you, I'm afraid I will be leaving now."

Without another moment of waiting, Jyfo turned and reached out with the Force, mentally fighting through the fog the sickness had wrapped around his mind, and lifted the unconscious alien ahead of him out into the alley where he first arrived from. His speeder was nearby.

 

[Trenchcoat Man]

Perhaps it was because of the poisoning, but…[member="Jyfo"] lacked a fundamental grasp of what was going on. This wasn’t a spar…It was a fight – Trenchcoat Man having stepped up to protect the Ithorian from a would-be interrogator. Just because Jyfo had surrendered, it didn’t mean this changed. It didn’t mean that Jyfo got to take the Ithorian. (Hint: Though who could object to a friendly conversation?)

As Jyfo carried the Ithorian away, he would quickly find that his speeder was not where he had left it. In fact, this alley did not even seem to be the one he had entered – twists and turns of nonsensical natures, leading in directions unfathomable midst gridded streets; among urban planners who wanted to keep their job.

Eventually, Jyfo would reach a dead end, music calling down from ghettoblasters, spilling sound out the open windows of tenement housing.

Oh. Baby. Un-der-stand. That. I. want. To. Be. The. Only. Man.​

The content of the song was irrelevant.

*kcick* *kcick*

It was the sound of a disposable lighter.

Benedict stepped into the alley’s dead-end, blocking the exit from which Jyfo had came. His saber away, he brought a new cigarette to his lips, torching it with the throwaway device.

“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, mate – See, you ain’t going anywhere with Gobby Fissure there.”

Gobby Fissure being, of course, the dejarik prodigy from two decades ago. Probably, anyway.

Oh! Oh Shei-la! Lemme love you till the mornin’ comes​

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