Private Starfire and Thorns

[Yoru Iben]

Yoru, who had been walking with swift, long strides to catch up, came to an abrupt halt. Then, effortlessly, he caught the databank and looked it over in the palm of his hand. He raised a curious brow at the slightly built, red-skinned man. Who was this? Her boyf- no, who even cares right now?

"Hey," he barked, "How do I even know that this is good? Hey!"

The shuttle door hissed shut, and seconds later, the shuttle's landing gears retracted, and it took off from the refueling station. Yoru watched as Thorne and her ship zipped into the abyss of space and, with a twisted grimace, looked back at the data card in hand.

"Better be fething good."

~~~
​

Months later

The faint waft of an acrid sweetness stung Yoru's nose as he squatted beside a forced-open trunk. He rummaged through the contents with his right hand, and in his left, he loosely held his blaster. The man hadn't come to this cramped bungalow just for this chest, but aside from the stacked cots on the adjacent wall and pair of smoking corpses behind him, it was the only other thing in the room. Chrissake, they didn't even have a generator! Yoru's hand bumped against something weighty and solid, and he brought it to the top of a pile of clothes. Unwrapping layers of fabric, an eerie green shone against the shack's dimly lit walls and painted Yoru's face a ghastly shade. It was a dodecahedron, crystalline, and glowed a toxic green. Pang. His heartstrings plucked a melancholy note.

"Huh," He thoughtfully exclaimed and began to fold the cloth wrap back over the trinket.

Well, whatever it was, the scrapper could immediately tell it would go for a high price to the right person. It was one of those things. The type of thing that only those with niche hobbies would care about. Standing up and hooking his finger around his pistol's cosmetic lever, he holstered it with a swift flourish and pulled the satchel on his back over his chest. He exited the tight home, stepping over one of the bodies on his way out, and stowed the gem in his bag.

They must've been waiting for a day like today to arrive for... who knows how long. Maybe waiting for the man that Yoru had asked about. They drew their blasters on him the moment he posed his question. Unfortunately for them, he was quicker. Surer of his shot. They needed a second to think. He didn't.

Slinging his pack over his shoulder and fastening the strap tight against his chest, Yoru lit a cigarette as he began to backtrack through the dense jungle to return to his ship. He'd finished his second smoke and found himself dripping with sweat as he returned to the ramshackle spaceport. As he approached the local watering hole, the scrapper waved his hand and gave the bartender a shout. It was a run-down counter under a hole-ridden roof. Awfully generous to call it a watering hole.

He was completely oblivious to the sleek-looking shuttle parked nearby.

"Hey-" His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. Yoru coughed. "Hey!" He said, louder. "Drink! Cold!"

 

[Blackthorne]

These backwater planets were little more than garbage heaps, but the smart treasure hunter might tell you that a worthy find could be picked out of plenty of garbage heaps ...if you knew where to look. Sometimes, though, sometimes you just got fucking lucky.

At the watering hole one could find a variety of things; some people just minding their own business and stopping for a drink, others there to find old friends or new ones, and others still were there to wait. Most times the ones who were waiting knew what it was they were waiting for. Every now and then they were simply waiting for chance or an opportune moment or for a certain sensation to strike.

Off to the side was a rowdy group of five sitting around a table beneath a light that seemed resentful of having to shine. A cloud of smoke hung over them, buoying the sound of laughter as a story was told in some off-beat alien language likely only spoke in the backwaters around here.

At the entrance of the bar another drifter walked in - a familiar looking zabrak of red and black striped skin. He bypassed Yoru at the bar to make for the table toward the back and interject his own snide remark into the tale presently in production.

"Man when you started telling that story is was only four parsecs through the rift."

"Well everything gets longer in the retelling."

"Sure thing, Sa-heeb."

The entire table laughed.

"The Captain was there, she saw it with her own eyes. Isn't that right Cap?"

The group turned their gaze toward another smaller table further back in a corner where the light from above them didn't quite reach. Two piercing, acidic green eyes looked up with a gloomy glow.

"Thorne, you cannot possibly support this idiot's-"

The gleam of a gauntlet shifted over the Captain's table as she tapped the clawed tip of the armored finger at the table, signaling for the zabrak to join her.

"Aye Cap."

 

[Yoru Iben]

Yoru set his bag on the counter as he finished his drink, resting his free hand over the hard bump in it. Usually, he would leave empty-handed after coming to these kinds of places. While utterly unaware of what he possessed, the scavenger knew that, whatever it was, it had value.

The table fell silent as Thorne beckoned her crewmate over.

Yoru emptied his glass and slammed it down with a light thud. There was a nervous chuckle—a cleared throat. The story resumed. He pushed off of the bar and slung the bag over a shoulder. The man glanced back at the table and then let his gaze wander past it towards the pair that sat in the dingiest corner of the watering hole.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, pointing at the pair. "Blackthorne!"

You could hear a rat's fart.

 

[Blackthorne]

The outburst may have settled an uneasy silence within the walls, but it was swiftly followed by the chorus of clicks and whines as several guns and blasters were pointed his way. There were many ways to approach the Captain of a Pirate clan, but pointing at said Captain and yelling their name in the middle of a watering hole was decidedly not a good option.

Those green eyes shifted to the man who owned the finger presently pointed at them, narrowing in mild recognition. The Virgin. What were the fucking chances? A jet of purple-hued smoke billowed from the darkness.

"Sorry," said Blackthorne as she casually, ashed her sten into the tray on the table, "I don't remember your name. Is there something you want..."

 

[Yoru Iben]

One, two, three, eight. Yoru counted the number of muzzles aimed at him. His left hand held the strap of his old bag and was far from the blaster holstered at his side. Not that he'd even make a try for it. Even he wasn't that fast.

"Yoru," he said, pouting and stopped pointing at her to gesticulate. "Come on, don't you remember?"

Two of the gunmen shared a skeptical glance.

"I... I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," Yoru furrowed his brows and rubbed his forehead as if to soothe a headache that wasn't there. "And I've been trying to meet you again after all those months."

What the fuck? One of the men mouthed to another who shrugged back in utter confusion. Blasters that had been firmly aimed at Yoru were now trained on him with less conviction.

Yoru began to pace. "No matter how many women I tried, none of them were the same! And they..." He waved his free hand in large circles. "They were all so... so... boring!"

In a matter of seconds, the atmosphere had gone from uncomfortable to tense to outright painfully embarrassing. The storyteller stepped from around the table and approached Yoru. He holstered his pistol to push Yoru's shoulder and urge him out as he continued his rant. "Alright, buddy, time to-" Yoru grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm, dropping him to a knee. He let his bag slide off his shoulder, and it hit the ground with a heavy thud, and he drew a claw-shaped knife from the small of his back and pressed it against the man's throat.

Yoru flashed a serpentine glare at the posse before him as they refocused their aim on him.

 

[Blackthorne]

The budding amusement among the cadre of pirates was palpable on the air. If you were too dim to see it on their faces or hear the snickers under their breath, then for certain you could feel it. Blackthorne was not participating in the amusement - the man had interrupted business. It was annoyance she added to the pool, and though that sliver of emotion was a mere drop among the rest, it filtered out like spooling blood in a slowly undulating ocean, catching the senses of the other sharks in the water.

Yoru's little trick with one of her crewmates caught the attention of the rest who hadn't quite given up their chuckles.

Blackthorne eyed the man where he stood, noting the feral gleam to his eye. He'd acted on instinct, no doubt, to save face in front of a woman he'd grown an apparent ... what was the word she was looking for...

"Is he obsessed?" Ihmoen quietly intoned to her, "What did you do to him?"

Yes, that was the word. Obsession.

"Exactly what he needed," Thorne sighed, "and more than he deserved-" she straightened herself in her seat and gestured absently at Yoru, "leave him and come sit down."

 

[Yoru Iben]

At this point, Yoru would have quipped once or twice, but he noted how calmly the pirates aimed at him. Real killers. They'd kill him, but not before their crewmate would have his neck sliced right open. Fair enough, right?

Eye for an eye.

Yoru pressed the point of the curved blade into the man's soft flesh.

"Leave him and come sit down."

A loud exclamation, one of exasperation and relief. Yoru released the man and, as joylessly as he could, smiled down at him, patting his cheek with a large hand. "Lucky us." He bent down, stowed his knife behind his back, and scooped his bag up before walking through the on-guard pirates to sit across from Blackthorne and her companion.

His bag weightily landed on the table. Small eyes flickered between the pair.

"Hiiii..."

 

[Blackthorne]

"Don't talk," Blackthorne immediately cut him off with a snarl, words reminiscent of their last encounter. Her gaze shifted from annoyance to something gravely darker as she stared at him. How the feth did he find her? Did he find her or did he get fething lucky? It felt like the latter - this man wasn't that smart, wasn't that good. Not if first impressions had shown her anything.

"Continue," another vague gesture to her red and black and horned comrade.

"With him here?"

"Continue." Thorne, meanwhile, continued to stare visual daggers at Yoru, lifting her sten back to her lips to take a long, slow pull.

"Vega wasn't there. It was one of his associates and he was already dead when I got there. Him and all his crones. Didn't find anything in his little safehouse - it was a fething mess. Amateur hour."

"We need Vega." Purple smoke spilled from her lips and billowed above the table between herself and Yoru, all menthol and light mint.

"Trail's gone, Cap. There's nothing left here to find."

Blackthorne wasn't one to take no for an answer, nor was she someone to give up so easily. She'd spent ten days on that frozen fething planet to follow a dead lead and she'd do it all over again if she thought it would garner her any better chances. So what the feth happened to Vega and why wasn't he here when he said he would be. And who the feth was here instead of him? And -

"Why are you here," it was a demand rather than a question, aimed straight at Yoru who made an uncertain face to which she sighed in annoyance, "you can talk now."

 

[Yoru Iben]

Since he couldn't talk, he listened instead. What else would he do anyway? Exciting stuff. Vega was a familiar name. He was once closely associated with Van Vasteel from what Yoru had gathered over the last several months. Also, It seemed their troubles were partly his fault. Best not to mention that. Ever.

Yoru smiled, feigning relief that he could speak again.

"Van Vasteel," he said, still smiling. The younger man had the resolve to turn over every stone in the galaxy 'til he found the old freelancer, but not the time. "Your data was pretty good. Got to meet lots of new people. Those people had lots to say." He shrugged and leaned back into his seat, his hand loosely covering his bag. "Somebody said I might get lucky if I came this way."

 

[Blackthorne]

Two seconds after the man started talking, Blackthorne realized she didn't actually care. So instead she leaned back into her seat, took a long pull on her sten, and settled with the smoke in her lungs for several long, drawn out seconds.

Ihmoen nursed a drink, disinclined to get too involved with this odd stranger. At least, not more involved than needs be - but he was a seated guest of the Captain who didn't appear to be overly keen on small talk. The zabrak gave her a bemused glance before turning his burning gaze back to Yoru.

"And did you," he asked, tipping his head Yoru's direction, "get lucky?"

 

[Yoru Iben]

Yoru's faked smile dropped in an instant. His eyes narrowed into thin slits as he glared at Ihmoen. Not that he had any grievances with the horned man. It was just that, no, he didn't get particularly lucky, and it was frustrating. Yoru opened his hands towards the empty tabletop in front of him. He was showing off nothing because he had nothing.

"No dice," he plainly said.

Of course, the little trinket in his bag was plenty valuable. It turns out he was plenty lucky. Just didn't know it yet. One man's trash- another's... You get the idea.