First Reply Taking Out The Trash

[Ash Cobalt]

Location: Bracca​

"Sorry bud. A hundred's the best I can do." The scrapper's face bore the stony resolution of someone who'd been done with the current argument some time ago.

Cobalt had been scavving long enough to know that look well, and to know it was either a hundred or nothing. If he wanted to eat tonight, he'd take the deal. Never mind that he'd fought a full-grown Dianoga to get these particular specimens. Apparently, that was the price of risking his hide. One hundred credits.

It had been some time since he'd whacked that Jedi for the Hutts, and the credits from that gig, though considerable, had long since dried up. Thankfully, no retaliation had ever emerged from it, but now, that was the least of his worries. The Hutts weren't paying out nowadays, and old Whottoo had long since gone dark, so he'd been forced to look elsewhere for his daily bread.

"Fine, frak it. Give me the credits." A bag of vaguely-salvageable junk slid across the counter one way, and a small handful of shiny credit chits sailed across in the opposite direction. It was a beautiful sight; enough for a few hot meals and a bit of fuel for his vessel. Enough to get off Bracca for good.

He didn't care for the place at all. Cobalt had long learned to hate idealogues and true believers of all types, but as fanatics went, the Mandalorians who now owned Bracca were a hell of a lot better than the alternatives. Other likely spots, like Lotho Minor or Raxus Prime, were either swallowed up by the advancing Blackwall or otherwise so close to Sith turf that it mattered little.

Of course, the faceless armored warriors and the Sith were effectively in bed with one another nowadays, if the stories were true. One big happy, incestuous family. Cobalt couldn't relate. It had always been him against the galaxy, and over time, he'd come to prefer it that way. No ties, no roots, nobody telling him what to think or do, and nothing keeping him from packing up and flying off in a hurry.

He took his money off the counter hastily, unable to keep the quiet disgust from his face and movements. This life was getting harder to sustain all the time. Less and less of the galaxy was free land, more and more of the good salvage sites were under somebody's thumb or otherwise unreachable. Every outing, he ended up having to fly just a little further out, spend just a little more time, fight just a little harder.

Eventually, his number would be up. He'd end his days hacking up chunks of his own lungs in some god-forsaken ruin or junkyard, after being just a fraction of a second too slow to move out of the way of a shot. His species seldom died in bed, and he'd almost certainly be no exception.

So be it. For tonight, he'd done more than enough thinking, and it was time to recycle some of his hard-earned credits back into Bracca's economy.

As it happened, there was a place right across the street from the salvage exchange. If success in business was all about "location, location, location", then the owner of this fine establishment was a genius. There was a constant trickle of traffic from the exchange to the bar, and Cobalt lost no time in joining it.

A few minutes later, he was hunched over a grime-encrusted bartop, holding a glass of something that looked and smelled like toxic waste. True to form, Cobalt drank it anyway. He wasn't quite able to contain a sigh of relief as he did so, feeling days of mental and physical exhaustion be washed away before the onrushing tide of low-grade liquor.

That comfort wouldn't last; he usually had to pay out the nose to get enough booze to be really affected, but for now, it took the edge off. He'd knock out a few drinks, then head back to his ship to sleep. One more successful run was something worth celebrating, however meager the payout had been.

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[Yuri Maji]

The Hound didn't expect to visit Bracca anytime soon. Only a few short years ago, he did a miserable gig that paid like Bantha poodoo while battling the demons of his own decisions. But he did get something out of that trip. An amazing friend that saved his life twice, as well as a few useful nuggets of knowledge.

He didn't like venturing into Empire space, but when the potential for credits proved high enough, the mutt was more than happy to tap-dance on the Rancor's snout. Just like him, the Ironworks was a derelict factory on Kestri only a few short years ago. But now? Its wares were churning out almost at full capacity, and the Hound was adding to it every chance he could. Such a mission came up once more, parts for the shipyards and replacement spares for the factory itself were in desperate need. Normally a trip to Christophsis or one of the closer industrial planets would have sufficed, but a recent rumour of a New Imperial wreckage managed to find its way to Yuri.

He needed that foundry ship.

The freighter touched down on one of the many improvised landing pads. Yuri slid his helmet on along with a poncho to cover up his armour. He didn't leave the greatest impression with his last trip and he wasn't going to gamble on people's memory. Unfortunately, he couldn't just fly into the scrap fields on a wild Mynock chase in hopes of finding a decades old foundry ship somewhere out there.

He needed a guide. What better place to find one than the local drinking hole?

The door slid open and the Hound's crimson visor scanned the pub, just as several occupants glared at him. No words, no greeting, Yuri calmly made his way over to the bar and dropped into a seat with a sigh. "Glass of whatever's remotely digestible." He spoke up, setting a few credits on the counter as he removed his helmet. An idle glance was cast at the scavver next to him, along with a simple "Hey." As he took a sip of the drink.

It felt and tasted like he just took a decade off his already short lifespan, but it did wonders for his sinuses. One more sip and Yuri turned his attention to the stranger and the barkeep. "Either of you two know of a guide for the fields?" He asked them with a low voice, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself.

Ash Cobalt

 

[Ash Cobalt]

Tag: Yuri Maji ​

Under most circumstances, people tended to beat around the bush a bit more when asking for help navigating a junk world.

There were only a few reasons one might want to navigate such a place to begin with. Most of them were shady. Some of them ended in eliminating the guide in question as a loose end, as the scavenger had learned at no small personal cost. All of them were at least moderately dangerous.

More likely, though, this fellow was looking for something specific. If nothing else, his direct, no-nonsense approach was refreshing. When Cobalt's response came, it was cautious, level, and politely inquisitive.

"Of course I know him. He's me." The scavenger finished his drink and nudged it aside, then turned to look a little more closely at his next prospective meal ticket. The stranger was tall, vaguely canine, armed and armored to the teeth. Cobalt wasn't familiar with the species, but that didn't mean much. It was a big galaxy, and he'd by no means seen all of it.

"Depends on what you're after, though. How deep you want to go, and how long you expect to be out there. As junkworlds go, this one isn't too bad, at least."

It was true. Bracca was (mostly) lacking in the usual malfunctioning scrap droids, cannibal mutants, and worse that tended to populate the scariest of such planets. That didn't mean it was safe. Plenty of twitchy-fingered scrappers who'd shoot first and ask questions later.

"Long as you've got credits, I can help you find what you're after."

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[Yuri Maji]

The stranger's words immediately put Yuri at ease, at least for the moment. Just because he seemed to find a guide quickly didn't immediately dismiss the fact that the guide could be taking chances for a bonus. But a quick look over the guy gave the Hound the impression that the man wasn't really in a position to be taking chances with strangers. Either that or he was incredibly desperate.

"Credits ain't the problem." Yuri answered, taking another sip of the terrible drink. "What I'm worried about is the quality of service I'm payin' for." He raised his vambrace and activated his holoprojector to show a schematic of an imperial Leviathan. "New Imperial Order built a few a couple decades ago, followed the same design from the Galactic Empire centuries ago." He explained, studying the man as he held the hologram up for him to see.

Once the man got a good luck, Yuri switched the projector off and turned to face the stranger fully. "Time won't be an issue, I got plenty of supplies on my ship. So? You know of anything like this?" He continued with a raised brow.

The chances of finding another one after already picking one up years ago was slim, but the records he saw made mention of another one potentially being on Bracca. He knew, at least, that it was prime scrap, so just about anyone should know of such a beast.

He could only hope that the scavver was reliable.

Ash Cobalt

 

[Ash Cobalt]

Tag: Yuri Maji ​

The scavenger's glowing eyes flickered down to the holodisplay, giving it a short but intense look. Given the respirator and hooded jacket that tended to cover much of the mutant's visage, it would normally be difficult to tell what he was thinking. Nonetheless, the hallmarks of greedy calculation were the same the galaxy over.

Here was someone with money, and probably some interesting ambitions. Cobalt wasn't especially educated on the convolutions of the galaxy's military history, but he knew salvage, and Imp tech was Imp tech. It was boxy, utilitarian, visually-distinctive. Very survivable.

Rust and scavs would do a number on the finer systems, but a hull would stay intact forever without a concentrated effort to break it down.

Cobalt thought back to the countless decaying hulks he'd passed recently, mentally matching their rough silhouettes to this one. There was only one possible hit, and it was a hard maybe. He said as much out loud.

"I might know one." He confessed. "Maybe fifteen, twenty klicks away from here. Couple hours at a brisk walk, a few minutes on a ship." The scav shook his head slightly. "Won't be easy though. If I'm any judge, it's been there for years. Partly buried under a good bit of crap that's been dumped there since. Getting it out won't be easy, unless the engines are somehow still in order."

This was more free information than Cobalt would normally offer, but he wanted to be sure this fellow knew what a tall order this would be. "Still, I guess that part ain't my job. I can take you there, but if I were you, I'd walk at least part of the way. Flying might let other folks know you've got a score. Depends on how much of a hurry you're in, and if you're worried about mopping up any possible competition." The hooded man's eyes drifted to the weapons the armored warrior carried.

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[Yuri Maji]

The scavver's mask and clothing masked any chance of Yuri seeing what was ticking, but reading faceless masks was second nature to him. The man's gears were turning just as quickly as the Hound's. He explained the situation and the likely massive operation it would take to dig up the old hulk. They both shared a concern over potential competition, but Yuri was visibly unbothered by the prospect. If anything, the daring grin invited the challenge.

He was going to get that ship, one way or another.

"I don't mind flyin'. 'Sides, if the shooting starts, that's hazard pay for ya." He teased, knocking back the last of his drink with a grimace. "Y'all need better liquor, holy kriff..." He wheezed, getting up from his seat. "I got people standing by to pick the ship up, all I need to do is find it and secure it." He explained to the scavver as he led the way to his freighter. Beneath his poncho, his hand was near-permanently affixed to the grip of his pistol and the interior of his ship was already cleaned to avoid any temptations. He didn't trust anyone on this planet, just as they likely didn't trust him.

Leading the stranger through to the cockpit, Yuri quickly got the ship operational and raised them into the air. "Okay, scavver, you point and I fly." He instructed, turning on the scanners and navigation. Yuri flew them deeper into the scrap sea at a slower pace, giving his ship a chance to scan the wrecks below while he waited for his guide's input.

"Ya got a name, scavver?" He asked him. There was an odd scent to the man. Apart from the smells one could expect from this type of work and world, he couldn't place the man's origins. Between the unfamiliar scent and the mask, Yuri was dealing with an unknown variable.

Ash Cobalt

 

[Ash Cobalt]

Tag: Yuri Maji ​

If nothing else, the canine warrior's confidence was infectious. Cobalt relaxed, ever so slightly. This should be a simple job, in theory. All he had to do was show where the merchandise was, get his cut, and he'd be able to look forward to a few weeks of not worrying about where his next meal was coming from.

The scav followed the stranger in the freighter, noting his claim that he had "people" to come collect the hulk once they'd found it and locked it down. Not just a one-man op, then, but a wider effort. That made things a little easier, and a little more likely that he'd get paid at the end of this job instead of shot.

"Good enough." Replied the ragged man with a nod, peering out the freighter's viewport and thinking. One of Cobalt's few gifts was an excellent capacity for spatial reasoning. A necessary skill to develop, when one spent much of their time navigating underground tunnels and other winding corridors; failing to keep an accurate mental map often meant death.

Thus, it wasn't hard for him to get a bearing from the air. He considered for a moment, then pointed. "That way. South-Southeast, probably won't take more than a couple minutes in this thing. It's easy to miss, just part of a prow pokin' up out of the junk sea. I didn't think much of it until I saw your holo, so my guess is that's why it's gone unnoticed."

He considered for a moment when asked for his name. In a lot of ways, it was better to keep things anonymous in this line of work. He still didn't know if there was heat on him for the Jedi job, but sometimes a little concession went a long way with a client. He decided to be honest.

"Ash." He responded evenly, eyes scanning the horizon for that distinctive, boxy starship prow. "Ash Cobalt. Ain't much of a name, but it's the one my folks gave me, so I've stuck with it. What's yours?"

For his part, he was about as unsure of the stranger as the stranger was of him, but that was just part of the job.

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