The Black Dragon
Sullust, Club Afterlife, The Time of Night Where People of ill-Repute Come Out
Something Appropriate, Interacting With [member="Ira'cea Bethe"]
Music thrummed loudly, strobes danced across a significant crowd of insignificant people all dancing to a pulsing beat, submerging themselves in the illusion of their own significance. Places like this were as far from where Jorel liked to be as once could get outside of Kessel. That was a place he'd burn to ash one day, somehow. What good was a dragon that didn't burn after all?
But, his associate to be was supposed to meet him here. He didn't know all that much about 'Vorpal' personally, but he knew the work. Hits across Hutt space, and a flawless record if everything he had on her was to be believed. If there was anyone who he could tolerate being forced to work with, it was a fellow professional with a record as immaculate as Vorpal.
Even so, as the corporate hatchetman threw back a drink, he pondered why they'd paired him with another for this hit. It wasn't the first planetary governor he'd executed, not even one of the first three, yet the company had insisted that he work with another fixer, and not one of theirs. There were plenty of reasons for that he imagined, but only two possibilities really had his attention.
Either they had brought on Vorpal to execute him, which wouldn't make sense, he'd been dutiful and loyal, or the company's other 'help' had gotten hungry. Perhaps they thought if something were to happen to him, it would've made them something more than a second choice for anything besides the simplest of hits. That one made more sense, Harlan wasn't necessarily a friendly work environment.
For now, the man clad all in black waited, Vorpal wasn't late yet, and even if she was he imagined it was because she had her own little ritual to ensure Afterlife wouldn't be the place she was sent to its namesake. It paid to be careful. At least it paid better than it did to be dead.
Something Appropriate, Interacting With [member="Ira'cea Bethe"]
Music thrummed loudly, strobes danced across a significant crowd of insignificant people all dancing to a pulsing beat, submerging themselves in the illusion of their own significance. Places like this were as far from where Jorel liked to be as once could get outside of Kessel. That was a place he'd burn to ash one day, somehow. What good was a dragon that didn't burn after all?
But, his associate to be was supposed to meet him here. He didn't know all that much about 'Vorpal' personally, but he knew the work. Hits across Hutt space, and a flawless record if everything he had on her was to be believed. If there was anyone who he could tolerate being forced to work with, it was a fellow professional with a record as immaculate as Vorpal.
Even so, as the corporate hatchetman threw back a drink, he pondered why they'd paired him with another for this hit. It wasn't the first planetary governor he'd executed, not even one of the first three, yet the company had insisted that he work with another fixer, and not one of theirs. There were plenty of reasons for that he imagined, but only two possibilities really had his attention.
Either they had brought on Vorpal to execute him, which wouldn't make sense, he'd been dutiful and loyal, or the company's other 'help' had gotten hungry. Perhaps they thought if something were to happen to him, it would've made them something more than a second choice for anything besides the simplest of hits. That one made more sense, Harlan wasn't necessarily a friendly work environment.
For now, the man clad all in black waited, Vorpal wasn't late yet, and even if she was he imagined it was because she had her own little ritual to ensure Afterlife wouldn't be the place she was sent to its namesake. It paid to be careful. At least it paid better than it did to be dead.
