First Reply Synthwave and Palm Trees

[Eaton Waters]

The new speeder was slick, and Eaton was more than happy to take it for a run. Niamos was a great world. Great music, great weather, great vibes. The new model of the Mobquet M Series was a great little ride. Two seats, this one with a matte red paint job, convertible top, and a great sound system. The Blubreen was driving down one of the long coastal stretches as he was heading into the next major city. He had to one, drop this Mon Cala woman off, because well, he had work.

And by work, he meant fencing an item he had stolen.

Black Sun space wasn’t far, but there was a procurer of rare goods who was going to be meeting him. What Eaton had was simple, mere trinkets in most markets, but for some reason, this buyer was fascinated with the Krath history. It wasn’t even one of the Sith artifacts, as far as Eaton knew.

A statute of the Magician-God.

 

[Kaelen Varrin]

Do this. Go here. Do that. Come back. It wasn't a glorious life, but for the moment it was what he had. And so, Kaelen eeked out a living following folks that might be turning on the Rebel cells he had made friends with. He wasn't the muscle, far from it. But with an easy smile and a slick attitude, Kaelen was able to drop into almost any social situation that could be found and quickly adjust to the crowd and probably end up invited to a wedding or child's birthday.

At current, he was in a luxury bar watching someone that was a fence for the cell he had been working with for a while. This particular 'target' was a sort that often dealt in Dark Side and Imperial relics and nastier things. But he had a soft spot, supposedly, for the underdog. And so, while he peddled wares to those sorts, he happily traded in their secrets to the Rebels. A useful contact, but certainly not one to be trusted.

It seemed recently the fence had turned, selling Rebellion secrets to the enemy for safety, security, credits... Who knew... He had squealed, and now Kaelen was acquiring intel so that the more violent associates he kept truck with could do their part safely. Humming, Kaelen lit a stimstick, sipping at what passed for a local spirit in this place, trying to keep his grimace at the taste from showing as he watched the door casually without so much as a direct or even passing glance to most observers.

Still, he checked his blaster surreptisiously on occasion... It never paid to be ready...

Eaton Waters

 

[Eaton Waters]

Sometimes all one needed to survive was just the music and the vibes. A world like this, he could really get used to. Maybe Black Sun should move out this way and open up shop. Or even the Republic. If they were nearby, then the people like him, the ones who made their fortunes in other ways. He could adjust to the worlds around him, in that Eaton had no doubt. But since he was more free lance, that was why he was out here.

The electronic sounds of his music were thumping through the system of his speeder, and now that he was free of his Mon Cala sidepiece, he was more than happy to continue to do the crime he set out for. A quick pit stop to put on more appropriate attire, a dark suit, blue and white, that matched the current fashions on Niamos. Parking the speeder, he checked that his bracelet was on, the one with the Force imbuement that would make a room go dark, as he adjusted his jacket.

Stepping in, the blonde hybrid looked around before heading up to the bar. Ordering a minty tropical drink, he nodded as he turned his back to the bar, pressing the datapad that had the data for the fence against the bar.

And he was supposed to find a Quarran here?

Kaelen Varrin

 

[Kaelen Varrin]

Someone that reeked more oil-slick charm than Kaelen and a used-speeder salesman in Mos Eisley selling to a group of Jawas walked in, and Kaelen shook his head. Types like that wanted you to see the charm, the flash and glitz, but often enough that was what he called the iceberg. There was little hiding the hitch in the walk, the scanning tic to the eye, and the way the dominant hand was always lower. Sometimes that spoke of military or blaster training. Other times just the unspoken bodily language of caution.

But regardless, the man cut a fine figure in his dark suit. Kaelen was attired much less finely, but not so much so as to not blend in. An equerry or intermediary would probably be the first glance assessment. Well worn and cared for spacer leather boots in a deep oxblood, electrum decorative bits up the shank of the boot along his calf. Black trousers, a flared black waistcoat of some sort of silk that seemed to drink light rather than sheen it off. Black leather gloves, some would take as an affectation, but in truth they hid knuckle tattoos and other markings he'd rather not explain.

A waitress, a respectable looking Mirialan with a rather wicked grin, brought over an amasec to him. It was a drink he had discovered on the Rim and not found elsewhere, something akin to a matled whiskey, with a multiple distillation method, and often bitter fruits flavoring it. The tart cherry and sweet anise of this one wasn't his favorite, but he smiled cordially, and with a pointer finger and a tilted glass as if to toast the newcomer out of politeness, he winked.

The wink said Kaelen knew, and didn't mind, and wouldn't be causing the man problems unless their goals were opposing.

Eaton Waters

 

[Eaton Waters]

The credits were going to be nice. Enough to refuel his Niathal shuttle, and get him moving to the next job. Eaton was more than happy to store the ship aboard a bulk freighter, run some miracles on the navigation system, and get it to its next stop. Moonlighting as a Warden, as his sister said. She also said he should sit down and read her books.

But for now? He was going to have his fun, and stealing treasure, especially from the dark side groups? Well, that counted for something. Sure, he sold it, but what would the Jedi offer him? Or the Alliance? Probably lock him up. He wasn’t here to support the Sith, nor any Empires, but well, sometimes a big government was just too much oversight.

And didn’t let him move freely.

Eaton surveyed the room before noticing a Quarran in the back, hidden behind the large head of an Ithorian. So that was his fence. Another sip as he gave a nod to the other man in the room, the one probably flirting with the Mirialan, before he took the next steps forward.

<<Seems like we’re on a flood tide>> Eaton affected, in his best Mon Calamari. It was not the Quarran language, no, but it didn’t need to be.

Kaelen Varrin