Tea Time [Ask for Invite]

[Beowoof]

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Brentaal IV - Votrad Imports District​

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There was a scuffle of boots on the duracrete roof of the Class building. Two men were shoving a gagged and violently protesting man as he kicked his feet against the ruddy grains of the rooftop, hopelessly attempting to gain enough friction to keep himself from being transported any further. Two masculine figures--obviously armed--and a solitary feminine figure followed not too far behind.

It was a brisk evening in Votrad. The pinkish dusk sky highlighted the silhouettes of the six individuals with cinematic perfection as the neared the side of the towering complex, and the breeze whipped and fluttered the ribbons tied about the matching hair buns and the wrists of the woman following them. Suddenly everyone stopped, and the two laboring men held up the defiant captive and removed the gag from his gnawing mouth. "Get your frakking hands off me! I have a family! Let me go! I'll pay you whatever I have! Please!"

The other two henchmen reached into the resisting captive's pockets. One pulled out pocketbook, opening it up to reveal a family portrait of the man in their possession, as well as a beautiful woman and two very young kids of each gender. The lady, a brunette and finely dressed, received the procured item and studied it momentarily, reading off the name on his identification card. "Mr. Kfelle..." She briefly looked down and smoothed out some ripples in her blue dress, almost as if she was completely evading the situation whilst still being the catalyst to it.

"Now, it would be a lot less expensive for both of us if you'll just tell me where you put those crates." She fiddled with the ribbons around her hands and smiled with a chilling casualness. "I wouldn't want to waste three bullets on your wife and children when I could save some money with just one. That's smart business, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Kfelle?"

"Okay! Okay! Promise not to hurt them! Please!" he begged. It was pathetic, in a way, but what else would one expect a loving father to plea?

She only glanced up at him a moment, still seemingly absorbed in perfecting the stream of her ribbons. "You've made the right choice, Mr. Kfelle. The frugal choice and the moral choice." He was singing by this point, and all the details about the theft and disposal of her property coalesced tightly with a bow on top. She had what she wanted.

"Thank you kindly." At once, all four of her men had him by each limb and had hoisted the unfortunate one off the ground. The woman nonchalantly attended to the silver necklace about her collar. "But I'm afraid I'm a bit of a cheapskate, Mr. Kfelle. I think it best if I save money on all the bullets." The henchmen maneuvered themselves towards the edge of the building, dangling his legs outside the bounds of the duracrete barrier, feet dangling over the empty space that was a sixty-floor drop. His cries were petrifying with shrill desperation, but no one would be able to hear him from this altitude. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Mr. Kfelle disappeared over the railing.

 

[Kaiza Pawaro]

Patrolling the streets sometimes made one wish for excitement and action, anything to break the monotonous routine.

Kaiza wasn’t like that. For her, such task represented a journey in the purest sense of the word. Landing a hand here and offering help there had nothing to do with all those epic Jedi adventures everybody loved, and yet she felt content. Travelling alongside a fellow Jedi, she kept her perceptive eyes open, observing their surroundings with child-like curiosity and attentiveness. Probably nothing more than average city life to most, sometimes showing the failing of society, but the farmgirl turned Jedi Padawan could not get enough of it. People poured down the streets, tiny ants finding their way between gigantic buildings adorned by flashing lights that gave the city a vibrant tone. Tiny shivers of excitement tickled the young Mirialan’s body.

A strange, unusual occurrence took place nearby, revealing itself to the two robed figures as they rounded a corner. If nothing else, the gathering of people and excited voices were telltale signs something worth investigating has happened. Spying on the commotion, the Mirialan closed the distance between herself and the tragic aftermath. Mingling with the onlookers, her brown and beige robes effortlessly blended in with the small crowd, hood pulled down over her head and mercifully masking the Jedi’s worried expression that crossed her face. She did not break the circle of spectators as she stayed back and looked over the few shoulders and heads, discovering a hopeless image of what might have been a man once, although it was impossible to be sure at this point.

The broken body barely held any resemblance of shape or form, little more than a bloody smudge splattered across the pavement now. The sombre sight painted a grimace over the Mirialan’s expression. Born on a farm, she had long since accepted death as a natural part of life; there was a stark difference between death itself and this gruesome display though. Averting her emerald gaze, the young Padawan glanced up, trying to see the top of the towering monument that touched the skies and seemingly continued to grow ad infinitum. It must have been a long fall. Vivid imagination immediately started to weave possible scenarios and questions flooded her mind. A completely natural reaction, yet one unbefitting of a Jedi – taking care not to look at the shattered corpse, Kaiza cleared her mind and turned to her fellow Jedi. Sparks of curiosity danced within the Mirialan’s pupils, silently asking the knight for her opinion.


[member="Calypso"] [member="Eri'anya Forr"]

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia’s eyes were rudely awakened by the soft light streaming in through her curtains. The young woman groaned and rolled over, turning her back to the bright windows. For a brief moment, her eyes focused on the pillow that lay undisturbed next to her. It still felt a bit odd to have the bed to herself. There were times when she missed the peaceful breathing of her sleeping husband.

But she had to admit that there was comfort that came with the silence.

It had been a few months since his untimely death. As far as Dahlia was concerned, she was still very much in mourning. She still donned the black garb of a widow, and dabbed her eyes every now and then with a soft handkerchief. It was a role that she seemed well-suited to play. Was she sad? Well, of course she was sad… but grief-stricken would probably be a stretch. After all, she had been left with financial security, and she could always buy the things that made her happy – she would fill that empty void in her blackened heart.

A slender hand reached for the buzzer at her bedside. Moments later, the severe form of an HRD lady’s maid came through the door.

“Good morning,” Dahlia said lazily.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am.”

“Oh… it’s afternoon already? Fancy that.” She yawned and sat up.

Dahlia held her hand out impatiently, and her datapad was placed gently into her waiting palm. Her eyes quickly scanned her messages, and she sighed. She’d heard something about a shipment that had gone missing. Of course, she knew that her dear sister would handle things – she always did. But she hadn’t heard a word yet. Was that cause for worry?

Yes. There was always cause for that.

[member="Calypso"]

 

[Eri'anya Forr]

Eri'anya grimaced, bringing a small hand over her mouth in response to the sight before her. It was hardly the first time the Jedi Knight had encountered a recently made corpse, but she still counted herself lucky enough to call jumpers like this a rarity. She certainly did not encounter scenes this bloody as a regular occurrence.

Catching the familiar, inquisitive glance from the Padawan at her side, Eri squinted up towards the adjacent roof to gauge its height. "I suppose he could have jumped to his death..." It looked to be about fifty or sixty stories to the top, and judging by the state of the body and the height, he would have hit the ground at at least two hundred kilometers per hour. A suitable impact to kill any man, but a long few seconds to change your mind on the way down. Poor fool had more than enough time to regret it... that is if he truly jumped. "I wonder..."

She could hear her old master now, chiding her for so quickly jumping to the simplest conclusion. He would have deemed it irresponsible, urging instead that she follow the facts and draw her own conclusions. Something about this whole mess stank, and it was too soon for mass rot to set in, the body only beginning to smell, despite the grisly state it was in.

Eri'anya closed her eyes, her steps slow and measured as she approached the edge of the blood spatter. Relaxing her shoulders and jaw, the Jedi inhaled once more through her nose to track down that scent that plagued her. There was the expected odors of a body deteriorating, along with the unmistakable small of a voided bladder. Clearly the man had hit the ground terrified, but there was something else there. ...Perfume... There was something else behind it, something familiar, yet beyond her recognition. It brought the small Jedi no shortage of frustration.

Stepping back to regain some distance from the body, Eri'anya produced her personal datapad from the pouch at her hip to take a few pictures of the scene. There was little to capture, and the woman was satisfied with just a few shots of the body and one of the roof from below. It never hurt to compile evidence early, even if it turned out to be fruitless. She had never been one to just sit on her hands, after all.

She slipped the device back into her pouch, a look of resolve crossing her face as she turned to her companion. "What do you think?" She was interested in hearing the younger Jedi's opinion, if only to get a second opinion to kick off this increasingly crazy day.

[member="Kaiza Pawaro"]

 

[Beowoof]

There was no hesitation in her errand, the crime lady wasting no time in marching down to the lower levels with her posse. The black-clad bodyguards flanked the boss in her royal blue gown, its shimmering silk fabrics glistening within each rare pocket of sunbeam trickling down from above the ominous buildings. This was a warehouse and lower-class area, home to dilapidated factories and crumbling apartment complexes, the cavernous rooms within the dilapidated manufacturing plants filled with unused equipment that dated back decades, if not centuries. It was the perfect place to hide something and leave it forgotten.

The troupe arrived at a particularly shadowy lot, facing the graffiti-emblazoned garage doors that had once been loading bays for speeder craft. They were all but falling off their hinges for the most part, which made easy access for anyone willing to pry the panels far enough in order to squeeze in between. Of course, the well-dressed lady was too important to do such things, and her henchmen took out a few vibroblades and went to work cutting out a sufficiently sized hole for her beautiful figure to gracefully enter.

Hoisted up onto the loading dock platform by her minions, the ornamented woman strode through the makeshift doorway and proceeded into the massive facility. Her bodyguards provided vision with their datapad flashlights, and they safely meandered through the hallways until emerging into the production expanse, sun raining brightly through its skylights. Every clop of her heeled footsteps echoed within the chamber, announcing her arrival and that she, as of just now, was seizing this building as her domain. And everything within it.

Pausing to glance at her own datapad, the crime lady sent a certain relative of hers a message. "Dahlia, beloved," she spoke with no small taste of derision. "Please direct the police to the Class Building. I'm sure they'll find something of interest there." Best to have the law distracted by a body than try sniffing around and derailing her current amusement.

[member="Kaiza Pawaro"], [member="Eri'anya Forr"], [member="Dahlia"]

 

[Alkaios]

Brentaal IV, what could one say about the planet? It was certainly humid, not even five minutes after exiting the air-conditioned spaceport Alkaios found himself sweating through the red and black shirt he wore. Thank Arhikos I chose not to wear the vest, it's hotter than the forges of Haphaisthios on this damned world. Alkaios thought his hands burying themselves into the pockets of the black pants he wore. Standing on the pedway, Alkaios took a breath in of the humid air his nose instantly twisting in a snarl. The outside of the spaceport smelled of urine and alcohol… Neither of which were pleasant smells coming from the downtrodden. Sitting on a trash bin a container in hand was a man, possibly in his late forties, his hair was mussed and his eyes wild. A druggie, a sneer of contempt crept its way across Alkaios’ face as he wished he could shut his nostrils to avoid the smell. Attempting to breathe through his mouth had been a mistake as the Hellyni could now almost taste the alcohol that the bum reeked of. “Can you spare some credits sir, I’m just having a real hard time. I-“ The bum started stepping into Alkaios’ path to acquire the young man’s attention.

“You need nothing from me, however, I do need something from you...” Head tilting slightly to the side the brilliant blue eyes staring into the brown of the homeless man Alkaios spoke again. “That means for you to move before I give you something you don’t want.”

“Hutt-spawn” The bum mumbled, yet he knew better than to push the issue, one look into those eyes and the man stepped aside, the eyes of Alkaios belonged to a man far older, one who had seen terrors that would’ve broken lesser men.

If one is too weak to take charge of their own fate and wallow in their self-pity they deserve no aid of mine. Continuing down the walkway ignoring the conversations of those he passed Alkaios blended in perfectly with the environment. Hellyni were an offshoot of humans, so similar that one would have to do a genetic test to determine Alkaios’ true species. What had brought the Hellyni to this world was a few reports of an uptick in criminal activity, namely of The Finale. Alkaios had been hunting for any and everything on the organization, yet at every turn, he came to a dead end. This was the first lead with promise he’d had in the last month. It made sense for them to come to Brentaal, a system at the intersection of the Hydian Way and the Perlemian Trade Route, this was where one wanted to be if they were attempting to ship off some ‘supplies’. Whether it be spice or weapons mattered not, Brentaal was where you could get it out to your clients easily.

The first hurdle to jump was to acquire some gear, sneaking his arsenal through the spaceport security would’ve been near impossible so Alkaios had jetted it out in an escape pod a system back where he’d go to retrieve it after his time on Brentaal was up. The only armament he had was a lightsaber tucked within a calf pocket. The best part? It was always easy to get ones’ hands on weapons on Brentaal due to the trade routes.

[member="Calypso"] [member="Eri'anya Forr"] [member="Dahlia"] [member="Kaiza Pawaro"]

 

[Dahlia]

Now dressed in a lady-like outfit, Dahlia added a bit of edge by way of a leather jacket. She stepped into her heels, and marveled at her impressive height in the mirror. After carefully inspecting her appearance, she had a seat at the vanity to see to her makeup. As she raised the mascara wand to her lashes, she turned to see her datapad flicker to life – and display the message from her older sister. Her lips curled up into a crafty smile, and she sent back a simple reply: “I’ll see to it, dear.”

And so, she did. Well, almost.

Dahlia motioned for her lady’s maid, and the HRD woman approached. She provided the information to her most dutiful servant, and instructed her to tip off their police friends – discreetly. The Nova family’s reach even extended into the branches of law enforcement. In a matter of minutes, the local police would be at the designated location, and sufficiently busy with the crime scene.

After brushing on a dusting of rose-colored blush, Dahlia nodded to her maid.

“Will that be all, Ma’am? Shall I call your transport?”

“Please,” Dahlia replied with a dazzling smile, and placed on her dark glasses before stepping out.

By the time she reached the curb, her sleek transport was waiting. Her guards were there as well, an even mix of humans and HRDs. For some reason, she had a hard time trusting people, and felt more at ease among droids. After all, you could control them easily with the proper programming – it was quite nice, in fact. But of course, she wasn't one to overlook the fact that machines could be tampered with.

Long strides brought her elegant figure to the speeder, where she accepted the assistance of her driver to get seated. The business district here on Brentaal was posh, and she always hated leaving it behind. But there was work to be done.

“Take me to the club.” She instructed her driver with a nod, and pulled the door shut.

[member="Calypso"], [member="Eri'anya Forr"], [member="Kaiza Pawaro"], [member="Alkaios"]

 

[Kaiza Pawaro]

Suicide remained an option, not a single bit of evidence screamed otherwise. Kaiza did not feel anything strange in the Force upon turning to it for assistance, and thus treated the situation as such. For a moment, she pondered about what could have made the poor man commit such act of utter desperation – financial problems, family disputes? Green eyes observed the older and higher ranked Jedi at work, but otherwise the Padawan remained still like a statue.

“I am… not sure, Knight,” replied the taller Jedi carefully, fairly oblivious of how to handle the situation, “We will wait for the authorities to arrive.”

That was all they could do for him. Allow investigators take over and solve the tragic mystery. The two Jedi did not even have to wait for long. The moment Kaiza finished, distant sirens announced the approaching authorities. It made sense – someone from the crowd had already contacted them.


[member="Dahlia"] [member="Alkaios"] [member="Calypso"] [member="Eri'anya Forr"]

 

[Tanaski Yumi]

A crime gang was not something Tanasuki usually ran with, but this certain organization pandered to his taste, their work was, 'interesting' and likenesses in culture allowed him to embrace certain parts of his heritage that other syndicates would not allow. Though not usually being one to dabble in crime, he did not have too much of a option as the method in which the assassin had reached the core worlds was not the most legal. This was due to the fact it involved fairly regularly stopping on certain planets along the way with a friend to conduct 'business', it also didn't help that his traveling partner was a wanted criminal as well.

Though very new to the syndicate he was willing to do what they asked to cement a potion in the hierarchy, even a low one, as long as it meant a more solid standing. For task number one he was required to keep an eye on the 'sisters' latest victim, make sure the cops arrived as planned, and relay any events that may be of importance, and did he have something to report.

It had seemed, by the looks of their outfits, that some Jedi had stubbed across the body, with law enforcement on the way the Jedi may take a more aggressive stance on the investigation, and try to search the building, possibly coming across the 'transaction' of goods. From atop a perch overlooking the scene he zoomed in on the duo as they went about their business, the Mirialan taking photos of the man while the other 'very familiar' purple haired one seemed to be reaching out to the force for answers.

Talking into a small wrist com he relayed the current situation to one of [member="Calypso"] body guards, "Two Jedi seemed to have happened upon mister fall, they appear to be just investigating the death, how to proceed"?. For the moment he would remain hidden, keeping his force signature and persons cloaked using various skills and current armor, though intervening might be needed if the Jedi go to nosy.

/ [member="Kaiza Pawaro"] / [member="Dahlia"] / [member="Alkaios"] / [member="Eri'anya Forr"] /

 

[Alaric Marãll]

“Ah, Brentaal IV,” Alaric took a puff on the cigarette burning slowly in his left hand, his right hand on the controls. The rusted, brown land speeder looked like it had been put out to a junk yard for a few decades before the pair got their hands on it, it sputtered loudly as it hovered over the surface, coughing out a thick black smog behind it. Fortunately, it hadn’t taken the old man very long to get the thing up and running again. His companion, a petite girl not yet escaped from the clutches of teenagedom looked out at the air planes surrounding them. “Amazin’,” the old man muttered to himself, scanning the sights around him, far off in the distance the lights of a city could be seen, but out here, it was a lonely road cutting across one of the many deserts of the arid planet. “It’s been… what? Maybe fifteen years since I was here last. Back when I was causing real havoc for those no-good Sith, Hard to believe,” he chuckled at the memories.

He looked over to the young girl seated next to him. The sunlight of the warm planet caught in her hair, the light brought out the kiss of honey normally hidden beneath the deep hickory of her locks. Leaving the cigarette dangling in his mouth, he reached over and shook the gir’s arm to get her attention. “Hey, Mynock,” he said as she moved her eyes away from their surroundings to meet Alaric’s stormy blue gaze, “I ever tell you that my grandpappy was a soldier? Daddy too.” She angled her head but didn’t say anything, after a moment of silence he continued, “yep. Those were different times. Massive wars. Terrible, unspeakable things. Common place like you can scarce imagin’. Not that today’s much better.”

“You feeling alright Old Man,” the girl asked him, she attempted to mask the genuine concern in her voice, but her question caused Alaric to furrow his brow all the same, “it’s just… you never talk about the past.”

“Well of course I don’t, Mynock” he retorted, any trace of sentimentality had vanished from his voice. “It’s because you ruin the moment.”

“Uh, well I didn’t mean to!” She responded, her voice filled partially with mock offense and partially with just plain offense.

“That’s the scary part, Mynock. You didn’t even have to try!” He took another puff on his cigarette and laughed.

“Hutt-spawn,” she said, laughing, she reached over and slugged the older man in the arm, he just smirked and shook his head, keeping the speeder moving along the road. They traveled on in silence, right into the city. Alaric navigated through the more crowded city streets with some degree of difficulty, frequently cursing under his breath and expressing his frustration that street names had changed or landmarked remodeled. Eventually, he brought the speeder to a stop right outside what appeared to be an old warehouse. “This is the best club in the core,” she asked, scoffing.

“Shut up,” he answered her, exiting the speeder and approaching the club. “Let’s just hope this place hasn’t changed too much,” he muttered as he strolled into an area clearly labeled ‘employees only.’ He sighed as he was confronted with a number of doors, “let’s try this one,” he said pressing a service button near one of the doors, seemingly at random. The pair waited a few minutes before a large man dressed in dark, but sophisticated, fabrics revealed himself.

“Did you see the sign,” he asked simply. Though the question was innocent, an insidious, cool threat lurked just beneath his tone. “Employees only.”

“Of course I saw the sign, Boy, I’m old by I ain’t blind!” Alaric’s response was a hot explosion compared to the other man’s calm, collected threat. “I also see you reaching for that blaster you’ve got concealed between your blazer and your vest, which- as a side note- not the most masculine outfit you could’ve picked out this morning.” The man seemed surprised that his subtle motions had been detected by the elderly man before him, but Alaric didn’t offer him a chance to answer. “And if you keep moving for that gun, I’m going to have to break your nose, kick your teeth in, and beat you bloody with your own arm after I yank it out of its socket.” He shrugged, “there’ll be a lot of splatter. Now I’m okay with that- I’m not wearing a fancy vest. But…” he put his hands on the shoulders of the girl beside him, “think of the children!” His voice was heavy with sarcasm and, as usual, he found his joke too funny to keep from laughing at it.

“State your business here and it won’t have to come to that,” came the cool reply.

“Alright, alright,” Alaric answered, “I’m reaching into my pocket. Do your best to keep from doing anything you’ll regret, alright, Boy?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he reached into his pocket and produced a wallet he began to flip through, “I’m here to pick up some property I left in the keeping of your employer, figured the only place safer than a bank is the vault of the man knocking ‘em over, am I right?” He was the only one who chuckled. “Ah, here,” he finally produced a small card. On it, the name Reylan Nova was emblazoned. The business card was bent and crumbled, the paper faded with age. It listed no occupation for Mr. Nova, no address, no contact number. Just a name. He handed it the guard who seemed surprised. “I’d like to meet with that old son-of-a-blaster.”

“Okay…” the man said, looking at the card. It seemed authentic. “Well, I can bring you in, but club rules are very explicit. No guests,” he said gesturing to the girl. That provoked a loud, hearty, extended laugh from Alaric. Long enough that the man’s patience seemed to wear thin.

“She’s comin’,” he said when he finally managed to regain his composure. “But that was a good one, Boy. Keep up the jokes and I might just overlook that ridiculous vest of yours.” The man seemed to debate internally for a few seconds before deciding to let both enter. His conduct was very odd, Old Smooth must not be handing out as many business cards. Probably switched to some new-fangled holo mumbo jumbo, he thought as they were led into an elevator. When the doors opened a nostalgic smile overtook the man’s face. “Now this is about what I remember,” he said maybe a little too loudly for the atmosphere.

“I’ll inform the proprietor of your request to meet,” the man said. “Who should I tell them is calling,” he said to the man, already in the process of being given an alcoholic beverage from the bar. The old man looked back to him and toasted him before taking a sip.

“Name’s Alaric Marãll.”

 

[Dahlia]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zp78kGMYTI8​

Surrounded by her posse of guards, Dahlia’s fashionable heels set foot on the pavement of Lot 311. She stood for a moment and tousled her wavy hair, adjusting the locks so that they would fall just so. A quick nod signaled that she was ready to move, and the footsteps of her armed men followed after her own. Stopping at the back door, Dahlia’s manicured finger punched in a very secret access code. Her cold blue eyes shot a glance over her shoulder, out of habit. The door clicked open and they disappeared inside.

As the private lift brought her down into the club, Dahlia took the time to touch up her lipstick. The toe of her heeled shoe tapped against the floor impatiently. It was always a bit crowded traveling with her retinue, the men were currently standing shoulder to shoulder behind her, but it was important. There were so few she could trust in the galaxy, but she knew that she could always trust her men – even if she did have to pay dearly for that trust.

Her shoes clicked pleasantly against the worn wooden floor, and the staff immediately straightened up at the sound. The host met her in the foyer, and was waiting to gently lift the leather jacket from her shoulders. The speakeasy was quiet, a bit too quiet for Dahlia’s liking. It was still quite early; the evening crowd had yet to arrive. Her eyes narrowed just slightly and she turned to the host.

“Marco, why don’t you play me something? That one song – you know the one.” She said with a grin.

The man nodded as he placed her coat into the closet, and then took to the ivory keys waiting in the sitting room. A moment later, Dahlia had a drink in hand, and she had a seat to listen to Marco play. Bringing the glass to her lips, she took a dainty sip and sighed contentedly. She closed her eyes as she listened to the music, but her moment of relaxation was soon interrupted. One of the bouncers was at her shoulder, and words were whispered just next to her ear, along with the name Alaric Marãll.

The name meant nothing to her, but the fact that this man had arrived with a guest was troubling – as was the fact that he seemed to be looking for her dearly departed father, Reylan Nova. Well, this certainly needed to be sorted out.

Dahlia stood and motioned for two of her guards to follow. Moving slowly into the foyer once more, she spotted the pair that had been allowed entrance. There was something oddly familiar about the bearded man, and nothing familiar about the young woman at his side.

“Mr. Marãll, is it?” Dahlia said in a pleasant tone, making her presence known. “How can we help you?”

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

“They didn’t exactly… um… greet you with a kiss,” her companion said quietly to the bearded man. The bartender placed another drink on the counter, Alaric had ordered two drinks when he had arrived and the first was already gone. He leaned over and grabbed the second drink which the barkeep had, presumptuously, placed in front of her. Alaric downed the second drink in one gulp.

“Old Smooth wasn’t around,” the man responded confidently. It seemed that they were the only two patrons in the club this early in the day, but Alaric still spoke as if he was having to shout over a late-night crowd. “I remember the good ole’ days, right when this place was brand new. We’d party the nights away. Finding a pretty lady and laying our moves…” he glanced down and saw the disgusted expression on her companion’s face. “… er, you know? Never mind.” He turned his attention to lighting his next cigarette. “Did you see the piano in the parlor?” He asked, extinguishing his match and taking his first puff. “I should have brought my quetarra, it’s been too long since I had a chance to play. I’ll see if he’s…” he trailed off as the man in the other room began to play. “Maybe he heard me.”

He turned his head towards the source of the music just as a young woman entered from the same way, bringing a sudden smile to his lips. “Stay here, Mynock,” he said to his companion without waiting for a response. He moved out from the bar he was leaning against, coming to his full height. He pinched the cigarette out, not even grimacing at the slight pain. He straightened the black leather of his coat and deposited the mostly whole cigarette into an interior pocket.

He turned away, briefly to settle the tab with barkeep, slapping a few credits down. With his back turned, he produced a comb and made sure his hair was presentable. Also form his coat pocket he produced a powerful mint, and popped it in his mouth, cleansing it of the smell of alcohol and tabac. He made sure his cologne was still fresh; a subtle but present scent clung naturally to him. Smoky cedar and a hint of spice fought a subdued battle for dominance in the air around him. The woman seemed to have been informed of his name; unfortunately, she wasn’t the person he was looking to see, but that didn’t bother him at the moment.

“Please, call me Alaric.” His voice was strong and his walk as he approached was assertive but not aggressive, the gleam in his eye very much approving. He glanced down and flashed her his award-winning smile at her, running his hands through his grey hair. He came to a stop just an arm’s length away from the woman. “Was this enchanting music your doing, Bella?” Given that he did not know her name, he determined just to call her ‘beauty’ until a more formal introduction was completed. “Because it is,” he paused to emphasis the next word, “magnificent.” He smiled again when she asked how they could help him, he eyed her various security guards. “I can see you’re a very important woman. A business woman,” he nodded thoughtfully, “excellent. Then you will understand the principal of exchange.” The sheer number of guards suggested that the woman took her security very seriously, and so he went out of his way to ensure he was giving off no subtle signs of mal intent.

“Let me offer you an exchange. You gave me this magical music, it would be ungentlemanly if I didn’t at least offer to show you some magic in return.” He extended his hand out to her, “please, Bella, the briefest of magic tricks and then I will answer all of your questions.” He invited her with the stoney grey hue of his eyes and the soft curl of his outreached hand, “what do you say, Bella?”

 

[Alkaios]

Walking on the left-hand side of the street Alkios noticed a crowd forming and the sounds of sirens approaching in the distance. Hmmm, there’s always onlookers, never do people think to help, no what they do is whip out their datapads and recording devices. They wanted to be the next big thing, to capture the incident so they could have their fifteen seconds of fame… Disgusting. Alkios didn’t even break stride as he continued past the incident a quick look over telling him what had happened. A man had fell, or jumped. There was almost nothing that remained that would allow one to identify the body from appearances alone, it could’ve been a jawa and people wouldn’t know from the misshapen lump that blood still pooled from. Alkios was no investigator or law official, whatever happened had nothing to do with him, nor was it any of his problem. Before the day was out there would be more deaths that the city would have to worry about than a jumper.

Coming up to a quaint diner Alkios walked up theduracrete stairs. Compared to the towering skyscrapers, or other establishments around it the diner stood out. It was small, just enough room for a Wookie to enter without issue, the outside was painted a sky blue, and there were transparisteel windows allowing people to look out into the streets. The name? Pleasant Hill, Alkios had did his research on the diner, not only were they said to have the best smoked nerf in the system but also to be the preeminent destination to visit on Brentaal if you were looking for weapons. Not common knowledge for the average Joe, but for one who’s life revolved around tracking those of the underground it was more than common. The door slid open a faint mechanical ding sounding off to alert that there was a new customer. Pressed up against the glass there were at least a dozen people trying to stare at the incident and crowd forming around the jumper. Good, less people to notice me.

Upon taking a seat at the bar Alkios was greeted by a large, rotund Besalisk. The belly of the individual was more than apparent through her gown, and the fake wig on her head was all too obvious. Curly, blonde… Besalisk didn’t grow hair but Alkios had learned from his numerous interactions with the woman to not question her tastes... Even if that floral print gown was absolutely atrocious. “Alkios! What’s the occasion? It’s been what, about two years since you last came in! I was beginning to think you finally bit the bullet.” The Besalisk said one of her appendages resting on the bar as she leaned too close for Alkios’ liking.

Despite the rank smell of the Besalisk’s breath Alkios offered a smile. “It’s good to see you too Juqua, you know just as well as I do that I don’t plan on biting the bullet anytime soon. I’m assuming you know why I’m here?”

“Boy, you don’t have the sense the force gave you… I know why you’re here.” Sitting up Juqua looked over to her customers noticing they were too preoccupied to notice her and Alkios’ conversation. Nodding her head to a booth in the far corner away from all the other customers Juqua walked from around the bar. “So, if I’m right about why you’re here I’m guessing you’re going to want my help?” Sliding into her seat with Alkios sliding in across from her the two looked at each other and spoke in whispers.

“No, I have credits this time Juqua.”

“Oh? And how did you get those credits? Hope you didn’t kill anyone I know for it?” Juqua asked raising her protruding brow and giving Alkios a look a mother would give a child that was misbehaving.

“Only a few.” Alkios said his lips curling slightly as he chuckled. Even Juqua laughed at the joke, though in reality, both knew Alkios was serious, he most likely had killed some of the woman’s associated.

“Alkios, you don’t want these problems… You’re brave, tough, and quite frankly scare thekark out of me but these people are different. They’re dangerous, they will kill you in a heartbeat, they’re resourceful. They’ll know you’re coming from a mile away.”

“It doesn’t matter whether they know if I’m coming or not, it will still end the same.” Taking out a pouch of credits and placing them on the table between himself and Juqua, Alkios looked her dead in the eyes. That cold blue gaze never faltering. “I’m going to need a smoked nerf sandwich, all the fixings, a side of bantha nuggets and a Fringi spice cake. To go.”

“By the force.” Juqua gasped at the size of the order and knew that it was serious. Alkios was going to war and she didn’t want to be in his way when he did. Taking the credit pouch and pocketing it Juqua glanced throughout the diner one last time. Voice lowering further to where Alkios had to strain to hear Juqua’s words she spoke. “Go around back, it will be ready in no less than ten minutes” Rising to depart the booth Juqua looked at the young man that sat there. “Good luck Alkios.”

“I don’t need luck.” Turning to leave the booth Alkios shoved his hands in his pockets. He knew what sort of stuff Juqua was into, weapon smuggling, drug transports and the like but she was just a go between, and someone who had aided Alkios in the past. Despite her illicit business, she was still a decent person, as decent as a Besalisk could be anyways.

Exiting the diner and walking around to the back of it Alkios leaned against the wall, the sounds of the sirens were loud, the authorities had finally arrived to deal with the corpse of the jumper… Was it possible that it wasn’t a jumper but instead had been a murder? With the galaxy in the state, it was the possibilities were high. The sound of another speeder approaching caught Alkios’ attention after a few minutes and from the sky above it descended a Green-skinned rodian hopping out the keys in its hand.

Nose twisting at the rank smell of the Rodian and its pheromones Alkios stepped forward hand held out for the keys to the speeder. “Everything you asked for is in the trunk… Do you mind if I ask what you need it all for?”

“Don’t you know Juqua’s policy? The customer is always right.” Alkios said as he strolled past the rodian keys in hand. “And if I told you… Well let’s just say you wouldn’t be fond of what followed.”

[member="Calypso"] [member="Eri'anya Forr"] [member="Dahlia"] [member="Kaiza Pawaro"] [member="Tanaski Yumi"]

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia watched as the man stood straight and pinched out his cigarette – an action that seemed to add to the rugged appearance. Her lips slid into a smirk, already amused. She offered him a tiny nod in response to his desire to be addressed informally; it was a reasonable enough request. Blue orbs followed his hand as it ran through his grey hair, her smirk grew. Quite a silver fox, she had to admit.

“Very well,” She said casually, “What’s your business here, Alaric?”

She pressed the issue again, but found that Alaric had swiftly changed the subject. Dahlia’s head canted to the side as she observed the smooth-talker before her. It was obvious that he was trying to win her over with compliments. Nevertheless, it worked. Praise never went unnoticed by Dahlia, and it was always a way to get on her good side. It was a weakness that she acknowledged, but she would never miss a chance to pump up her ego just a little bit more.

Her gaze narrowed slightly as she put on a show of appearing skeptical of his offer. A hand found her hip, and she stood in thoughtful silence for a moment or two. Exhaling smoothly, she gave a slight nod. Shuffling off at the signal, the two guards stepped back to the wall to wait. Slowly, she moved just a bit closer to Alaric and gazed down at his open palm. Dahlia’s eyes flickered back to his, and dark lashes fluttered sweetly.
She placed her hand in his and turned the gesture into a handshake.

“I’m Dahlia by the way, but you can call me Bella, if you want to.” She said, “And you’re lucky that I do like magic. Shall we see if you’re any good?”

And while it seemed that she may have found a momentary distraction, the questions were already forming in her mind. Alaric would have to hold up to his end of the bargain, for there were uncertainties that needed to be put to rest.

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

A coy smile played at the older man’s lips when she accepted his hand. He nodded at her turning it into a handshake. A good, strong woman. Excellent. He kept a confident, almost cocky smirk on his face at her introduction and offered her a small chuckle at her challenge. I do love a challenge. He returned the handshake, a firm yet gentle strength present in his grip. “Dahlia,” he repeated, his accent helped roll the word off his tongue, “in that case, I apologize…” he trailed off, watching for the subtle signs of curiosity to cross her face before continuing, “I should have known you would be named Dahlia,” he kept hold of her hand, “for it is the dahlia that all the flowers in all the fields in all the galaxy most envy.” In the back of his mind, there was a quiet ringing of familiarity. Had he known a Dahlia before? It sounded familiar and yet equally foreign. In the process of his pondering, he recalled the faces of literally hundreds of different women he had known in varying levels of intimacy, searching for a Dahlia. You’ve known too many Old Man to keep track of any one name. Besides, it’s been so long since I was in the sector, she would have been a little girl last time I was here. Maybe nothing more than a twinkle in her daddy’s eye.

He let them stand for a moment with no words passing between them, only the music playing beautifully from the piano, showing that he was as comfortable with silence as he was with compliments. He considered her comment again, see if I’m any good shall we? He smiled, “If I’m any good,” he said with humored emphasis on the ‘if,’ another confident smirk, “Oh, Bella, I find your lack of faith… disturbing.”

His grip on her hand tightened and he moved with speed and strength almost unnatural to a man his age, first reverting from a handshake back into its original position, just holding her fingers, and from there he moved both of their hands up over their heads, the back of his wrist facing him as he did so, and with only the softest push, encouraged her into a tight twirl. She seemed to play the part of a wealthy and privileged woman, giving Alaric confidence that she would know how to dance. Even if she didn’t he had plenty of experience at leading and was easy to follow. As she came out of the twirl he pulled her closer, keeping the hand he had been holding and placing his other on her back strategically. High enough that he seemed the gentleman, low enough that he seemed the part only just. He fell into the steps of a modified waltz, upbeat enough to match the gentle music the woman had requested, he moved with a masculine elegance that would have been appropriate for a man half his age of noble birth. Unfortunately, the song was nearly over, as the last ostinato completed and the pianist hit the second to last key on his instrument, Alaric dipped the woman before bringing her up for a final twirl, releasing her just as the last note was began to trail off.

He offered the woman a respectful bow, with his body still low, he looked up and caught her eye, his signature grin on his face, “now what say you Bella? Wasn’t that… magical?” The man did not even entertain the notion that she may not be imminently impressed with his well-practiced maneuvers. “Like I said, my name is Alaric and it is a pleasure to meet you Dahlia,” he invited her to join him at the bar, ordering a Godfather for himself and a Paloma for the woman. “I’m an old friend to the man who owns the bar, Mr. Nova. Though I’m sure a girl with your beauty is already well acquainted to Old Smooth,” he added the last with a knowing chuckle. Their drinks were set down before them and he took a sip, savoring the potent mixture. “Anyways, Old Smooth and I go back a long time. He helped me out of a bind last time I was in town and offered to hold on to some property of mine,” he swirled the drink while he thought about all the years that had gone by, “he’s one of the handful of folks in this business you can trust. He’s honest…” he smirked at the irony, “well, he’s honorable at least. Anyways, I recently made it back to the area, thought I’d swing by to pick up my property and holler at the old boy.” He raised his glass in a toast to the young woman, “It’s good to see that Lot 311 is still populated by beauties that could make the stars blush,” he smiled before taking another sip.

Dahlia

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia was the slightest bit surprised as Alaric spun her about, and then pulled her in close. She offered a sly smile, and let her body linger next to his. As he started to dance, so did Dahlia, moving with an abundance of grace and confidence. She gazed at him quietly; she would never have guessed that the rugged man would have been so light on his feet. It was quite a surprise, but a pleasant one. After all, it had been so long since she’d danced. The soft sound of laughter escaped Dahlia as Alaric dipped her down gently, and then a final twirl ended their dance.

“That wasn’t magic, it was just dancing.” She said grinning. “But it was fun. You’ve got some moves, old man.” Dahlia punctuated her point with a playful wink.

With a gentle sway in her steps, she followed the silver-haired man to the bar. She leaned her back up against the worn wooden counter, and accepted the drink that Alaric had so kindly ordered for her. As she listened to his explanation, she brought the glass to her lips for a quick sip. However, her hand paused before reaching its destination. Her blue orbs went wide for the briefest of seconds, and she masked her astonishment with the fluttering of lashes and a nod to signal that she was listening.

Alaric was supposedly a friend of her father?

Well, that was certainly a turn of events that she had not been anticipating. While it was nice to hear the kind words he had to spare about her father, she also felt a pang of sadness. A well-practiced smile graced her lips for a moment as he complimented the establishment. She finally took a dainty drink from her cup, and then stood in thoughtful silence for a moment before speaking.

“Well, Alaric… I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings.” She started, looking down at her drink. “But it seems that you haven’t heard the news.” Dahlia pushed out a breath. “Mr. Nova – my father – is dead.”

She figured it would be best to be direct and to the point, eloquent words would only momentarily distract from the fact that her father was truly gone. Dahlia let her words sink in for a moment, her gaze found Alaric’s once more.

“It’s been some time now since he passed.” She added, “But I’m glad to hear that you thought well of him. I’m sure he’d be happy to know that there are still a few loyal friends out there.”

Most of her father’s estate had already been handled; there were few of his worldly possessions that had been left undisturbed after his death. But Dahlia was sure that she’d seen a small safe in his office here, the key and combination long lost. However, she wouldn’t just go handing it over. She canted her head slightly, glancing sidelong at Alaric.

“May I ask what it is that you left in his care?”

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

The man had a gleam in his eye when the woman mentioned his little magic trick, seated at the bar he leaned back a little and laughed before taking a drink. “You’re a hard one to please, Bella,” he said with a confident, if charming, smirk on his face at her insisting that it he had failed to perform a magic trick, “and your words wound me,” he added with a pout, “just dancing?” He shook his head and chuckled, “some planets believe that the Force is a spring of magic, but I’ve lived long enough to know, the only real magic in the galaxy is the beauty of music and the little thrill in your soul as you hold a beautiful woman close in an art form older than stars.” His voice was smooth, and his accent made him sound like some kind of rural philosopher from some far off, dusty planet in the Outer Rim. “Dancing, Bella, is magic.”

He had only just begun to speak about his business on the world when the woman seemed completely taken aback. Though she tried to hide it, Alaric had learned long ago to watch those he drank with closely, a skill that had kept him breathing after all these years. His brow furrowed as she attempted to brush off her sudden surprise with a fluttering of her lashes which, though distracting, did not erase his memory of her confusion. He’d need to get to the bottom of that. For the briefest of moments, he considered the consequences if this was, in fact, not Old Smooth’s joint any longer. It seemed unlikely that the Nova Family would be easily supplanted but it wasn’t altogether unthinkable. He truly hoped not, it would be a pity if he had to shoot the delicate angel sharing a drink with him, all because of diverging loyalties.

He stood as she did, unwilling to be caught off guard. Behind him, his companion who had been sitting silently but attentively also tensed a little, reading herself the trouble Alaric had a knack for finding himself in. Alaric waited, taking a sip from his alcohol in the silence as the woman pondered what she was about to say. Bad tidings, huh? He had had conversations that begun like this before; they generally ended either in a shoot-out or, in worse cases, in a woman throwing his belongings out a window while screaming all manner of rude names at him. And given that he still had his trousers on, it seemed liable to be the former. “And I hate receiving bad news,” he said simply, confident smile still etched on his face, he took a drink, and counted the guards the woman had with her, free hand slowly moving towards his hip. “I have been out of these parts for some time, Bella. If I hadn’t been so far away I can assure you we would have met before this evening,” even in the tense setting he still had time for humor. And then she told him. Old Smooth, the girl’s father apparently, was dead.

“No, no,” he shook his head and laughed softly, though it wasn’t a happy sound and the grin did not reach his eyes. “Old Smooth? He can stand to lose a few pounds maybe but,” he shook his head and sighed deeply, an uneven noise. “Dead?” The atmosphere around him grew darker as he finished his drink in a single gulp and produced a cigarette, lighting it completely absentmindedly. In his line of work, the lives of men were more often than not like hypergiant stars- bold, bright, and short. But Old Smooth wasn’t like most of Alaric’s associates. He was a family man. Devoted as much to himself and his wealth as he was any cause. Not the kind of man to just drop dead. He took a deep puff on the cigarette.

“Dahlia,” he said as if to a memory, “I should have recognized those nymphish eyes,” he nodded, “yeah, we’ve met before. Though back in those days you were only ‘bout yay high.” He said making a lazy gesture towards his knee. “You and your sisters.” His thoughts seemed somewhat misdirected as he leapt from one topic to the next.

“Old Smooth and I go a long way back. He was always able to get me the equipment I needed to fight my wars, and I was always happy to give him the expertise he needed to resolve the disputes inherent in his line of work. I can’t believe it,” he gave a small laugh at a memory, “we always said Old Smooth would live forever- there’d always be another beautiful vixen to… uh…” he realized who he was talking to, “he was a good man.” He had almost completely forgotten why he had come to this planet. “I was arrested by the Sith back when they were a thorn in the side of honest, hard workin’ folk. Prison life didn’t much suit me and I went ahead and checked out early. Old Smooth got ahold of my belongings. I don’t know, smuggled ‘em out of that prison complex. Or well, what was left of it.” He shook his head, “personal effects mostly. Nothing too grand. Oh, and a quetarra. I fancy myself something of a musician.”

Suddenly he turned back to the woman, a cold resolve in his eyes that chased at the charming gleam that generally resided there, especially when in the presence of a pretty woman. “Bella, do you know what happened? To Old Smooth, I mean. Who’s responsible? Who had motive and opportunity? I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t at least pay them a visit.”



Dahlia