Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Stalking a Bloodhound

There were always rumors to chase down. Jared Starchaser knew that the galaxy was vast, but he also knew he had a job in regulating it. Were there things he shouldn’t get himself involved in? But that was fine. Jared was a hunter, and he was always after the targets that were causing a problem.

He was out here on Corellia. It’d been a while since he’d been home, and here he was on the Golden Beaches. Here in the GA space, there were so many rules and regulations, but as long as he acted like he knew this world, and he did, quite intimately. It was his home, and his haulcraft was docked in his family’s estate.

Stepping into one of the bars, near where some of the water skimmers were docked, he looked around. This was a place for people to hide out and he was hoping he’d at least hear any rumors that he needed to. He had his spacer’s jacket on, and under it, in a chest holster was his lightsaber. He sat down and ordered himself a Whyren’s and looked around. It was early evening, and the place was filling in.

A few were chatting in the corner, and he looked over, not hearing anything he needed, just others coming and going, shocked by travelers. And hoping the Empire kept themselves off this world before they had to go against the Corellians.

Scherezade deWinter Scherezade deWinter
 
Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser

The Golden Beaches of Corellia. Scherezade blinked and looked at the sky. It was her first time on this planet. She knew that before the Gulag, her only uncle (as far she was aware) had his life and business on this planet, but she'd never been intrigued enough to come here before. Wars had ravaged the planet apart while she was gone beyond the edge of the galaxy, but that wasn't really interesting either.

Still, she had been given a lead. Her schematics, the project that had vexed her ever since her return to the galaxy proper. She had found a few pieces of it, strewn across the 'verse, and a small uncovered hint had suggested that someone here would know where the next little part was.

So far though, she had come up empty handed. Local crime circles had nothing to give her, though a few lucrative contracts have been offered once they learned she was soon to officially involve herself with the business of the Black Sun. That was always nice, but not quite was she'd been after.

And here was this bar.

Scherezade wasn't really a drinker. In almost fifteen years, she'd only had sips of alcohol when she was with her paramour. But here? This bar had a reputation.

"Bantha wings, extra large portion," the Sithling said as she leaned against the bar top, signaling to the bartender, "extra hot too! Don't be shy!"
 
It wasn’t like him to take all these kinds of jobs, but for now? They’d work. He had people to get protecting out along the Rim, but there were other things that were a bit more pressing, like finding a dark sider who was out causing a ruckus? He would need to identify why and then see what he could do to slow them down or stop them in their tracks.

Some might call him brooding, most would call him patient, but what he liked to be known as was observant. He and his sister were Wardens, far more than the Jedi that his father was. They helped people, but sometimes it also meant going after a problem head on. He had his lightsaber, but he wasn’t going to use it until he was absolutely necessary.

There were people going missing and while he wasn’t the best at playing nice, he was a consultant of sorts for the High Republic and one of the Council of Kattada. He had the skills.

Glancing as a woman stepped up and ordered some wings. That was… a good call. Finishing his drink and grabbing another, he never presumed for others, and made his way over. “Not from here?” Accent and all. He mucked up his pretty polished non-planetary accent to mimic the one his father had. A true Corellian.

"Where you drift in from?"

Scherezade deWinter Scherezade deWinter
 
Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser

Bars were the kind of places where, once you'd ordered food, you got your order either super fast, or not at all. This, thank the Force, was a type of bar where you got it almost as soon as you ordered. It probably helped that she could see the deep frying vats from her position against the bar's rail, one of the biggest and childishest smiles on her faces.

When the bartender half shoved and half placed her basket of wings in front of her, the Sithling wasted no time in collecting one of them, completely ignoring its scorching heat, and stuffing it into her mouth. Yes, she was hungry.

"Not from here?"

Scherezade turned to the man who had come closer, the accent hitting her ear but not really sounding foreign. A curious thing indeed, considering she had quite literally never been on this planet before. Her eyes went wide and she almost answered before remembering there was food in her mouth.

Grinning around the wing, her fingers came up to pluck the edge of it out of her mouth, the bones coming out clean and shiny. When it came to food, Scherezade was legit a pro, and she knew how to rip the meet off without needing to move her mouth too much, so she someone managed to make it look both rough and incredibly elegant at the same time. She was just that talented.

She swallowed, glowing green eyes filled with amusement, and smiled at the stranger as if he'd just made her day.

"Depends who's asking," she answered. Her accent matched the posh people or Coruscant more, but there was sufficient evidence in there to hear that this was a girl that had traveled the galaxy far and wide, "If you're a tax collector, I'm from nowhere. If you're buying the next round, I might be Corellian too!"
 
Most of the places along the Golden Beach survived because they catered to the tourists. It wasn’t a bad thing, no matter how younger Jared or some of the teens felt about the tourists. It was good for business and having a place with a bit of a reputation? Was good for his business. He knew the types to travel to the small hole in the walls, the high end places, and the ones that felt high end by tried to be a hole in the wall. The one they were in was the latter of the three.

Jared tried to be suave, as much as he could, but he knew it wasn’t always what was needed. The trick was to be charismatic without seeming like he was looking for something. Just here to chat, and disarm someone. But there was something about her, he’d put his finger on it soon.

“Just a traveler, back home for a spell. Not a tax collector, Force knows I can’t stand those. I can buy a round though, for some information.”


Scherezade deWinter Scherezade deWinter
 
Jared Starchaser Jared Starchaser

A heart beat passed between Scherezade's answer and the man's next words. A heart beat that had been sufficient for the former to put another bantha wing in her mouth and release the bones just as the guy started speaking.

A part of her always wondered what it was about her that got people like him, and nastier sorts, to somehow understand that she was a woman (or a girl, depending on her mood) with information that could be sold. Of course, most of her then remembered she was a tall Amazonian woman with eyes that glowed, so it was silly. Still, no matter how many years had passed, the realization always took her by surprise again and again.

She glanced at his green skin and swallowed her food, taking a long inhale without actually moving from her place. The Blood Hound didn't care about what body wash he used or what his perfume was. No, she was interested in that split of a second in something else. His blood. She grinned again, noting that she was dealing with someone who had a mixture of human and Mirialan. Sure, she could work with that.

"I peddle with information that costs a little bit more than that," she admitted, "but another round of bantha wings will buy my time while you figure out that it's worth the price."

Though reading the words dryly might suggest some form of innuendo, her speech and mannerism suggested anything but. She was playing, enjoying herself and that little game in between the wings she was still eating, seemingly never needing to pause for a beat.
 

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