Technician [Saffron]

[Glim]

"Stupid kriffin' snipers, man." Came the quiet, nervous wreck of a voice that was Vasily 'Glim' Grigoryevich. Why was he on Tatooine, you ask? Simple, really. Business. He had a duffel full of stolen jewels; a literal store's worth of merchandise. It'd come from Ossus, which was always a good place to hit. A good number of people forgot it had its own population and cities outside where the Jedi set up.

Which made it perfect for slipping through the cracks. No one paid any attention.

The Trandoshan he'd been running with hadn't made it. Not by his hand like the Wookiee, but by a stray shot as he'd tried boarding their getaway shuttle. That'd been the other cut. Which meant all the proceeds of the duffel went to him.

He wasn't entirely sure what the worth of the contents was, but he knew enough to know it would fetch a pretty cred for him. He was a high brow criminal; he didn't knock over a store if it would get him less than 50 large. But usually the cuts were what dug into his profits.

But this time? This time there wasn't a single person to take it from him.

However, there was one glaring issue. He needed a fence. Someone to take the jewels, recut them and resell them. They'd make twice, three times whatever they paid him. But he was fine with that. He was still making out like a bandit; literally.

He'd switched his mask for sunshades on the speeder ride over to the ATC headquarters. Normally he'd show up unarmed, but this was Tatooine and while ATC could be considered a highly legitimate business it didn't bode well for a man with an obvious sack of goods to go around without a weapon. So his scattergun was held in one hand, balanced on his palm without his fingers anywhere close to the trigger.

Double layered blue surgical gloves kept his prints off everything, and he stepped out of an oncoming sandstorm to shake his head and clear it of particulates. Some of it had gotten stuck in the combed back hair atop his head. Looking around inquisitively, the finely dressed man stepped inside slowly, looking immensely out of place. Pale skin, sunken cheeks, shaven head except for the aforementioned scalp covering. An odd sort, he was.

But who he'd wind up talking to... well, that would be interesting to say the least. He didn't have the pull for the boss lady, but still. He'd never been inside a business like this without planning to rob. Odd situation to be in. But necessary. He couldn't risk these being sold anywhere near Ossus. Don't poodoo where you eat and all that.

[member="Saffron"]

 

[Saffron]

The scent of incense would waft in the swirl of hot arid air.

A small bell would tingle. A bit quaint perhaps, but this was just one part of a larger organization. Arceneau Trade wasn't just this small office -- no it spanned the length of Mos Eisley.

[member="Glim"] just so happened to step into the Companion area. Think glistaweb bed sheets and a healthy dose of tea.

And that incense.

Thick swaths of fabric would line the walls like a cafarel harem dream, pressing the need to lightly push the cloth away to make it through.

Yet before the newcommer would take a step, a soft feminine voice would drawl out in query.

"Welcome to the Oiran Guildhouse... how may I help you?"

A soft gust of air would send a swath of thin transparent burgundy fabric fluttering to the side. There, behind that curtain, would be the delicate visage of a blonde woman.

A Companion.

With the softest of beckoning smiles.

 

[Glim]

There was a blink as he took in his surroundings, fighting the urge to take the sweat from his forehead and ruin the fabric of his suit. Hazel eyes hidden behind black glare shades. His breathing became shallow, as if afraid to breathe in what might be a poison. He didn't know kark all about companions. Not his thing. Hadn't even heard of them. But right now he was convinced he was in some weird fetish cat house.

That didn't sit right with him.

Not because he didn't like cat houses, but because cat houses usually held criminals. Like him.

Which meant he was going to have to shoot someone.

"Wrong... uh... place. I think." His quiet voice was thickly accented, although it was hard to tell from where.

"Was looking to part ways with this." A hand reached behind him to pat one end of the duffel. It made a few... interesting noises.

[member="Saffron"]

 

[Saffron]

The smile would linger upon Saffron lips.

Empathic abilities would be able to read [member="Glim"]'s sudden shift of emotion. Uneasiness, wariness, and an alertness normally found among those well used to having to survive by the boots of their bootstraps.

Soft and pleasant she would be, as would the soothing sensation of calm lightly press like the kiss of warmth from the sun.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance... Mistah?" her voice would wane in questioning, hazel eyes warmly focusing upon his face.

 

[Glim]

There was a faint hop of the weapon in his hand before he caught it in his palm again, settling it in a more comfortable balance. "Glim. They call me Glim." He says quietly, running his tongue over his lips and then the front of his teeth. White. Good upbringing. A hand rose to pat the plate covering his chest just below the jacket but above his tie. Making sure it's there. It's on.

No one is shooting him in the chest. Nope. No way.

"You work as a fence... in here...?" He asks slowly, looking around.

Definitely not a place to fence.

Unless you were fencing genitals. Fencing the activity, perhaps? What a terrible mental image. He dashed the train of thought.

[member="Saffron"]

 

[Saffron]

[member="Glim"]

Humor would illuminate Saffron's hazel eyes and there was a subtle quirk of her lips at the corner of her mouth. A small gesture would motion for him to follow her.

No other word was said, but it was clear, that if he wanted to partake in 'fencing' it would have to be done behind closed doors -- or curtains?

She would take a step to the right, giving a beckoning glance over her shoulder before she would disappear beyond the drape of thick fabric into another room.

 

[Glim]

Play the game, Vasily. Play. The. Game. With a few furtive glances and a quick stare at the door he'd come through - which was now thickly obscured by blowing sands - he followed after @Saffron. Had to do what you had to do. He knew that part of the dance... even if he wasn't the most experienced of criminals yet. That would come, given time.

Although he didn't expect to be doing deals in a cathouse just yet.

He really, really couldn't get over that.

 

[Saffron]

"Would you care for something to drink?"

The Companion's voice was sweet and thick like Sparkbee honey, with an edge that suggested just as fiery and consuming. They would enter a room with cushions and settees artfully arranged around the room.

A small gesture would welcome him to find a seat of his liking, the gossamer fine fabric of glistaweb silk slinking around her slender form like a second living skin. She would continue to attempt to calm the senses with her abilities, having had more training and practice at utilizing them at the Expo and Auctions.

"Please... make yourself comfortable."

 

[Glim]

"Water. The heat is bad enough to melt the tongue through my head." He set himself down on a... fancy looking loveseat, duffel bag being pulled from around his thin shoulders as he did so. Setting it on the ground in front of his feet, he propped his weapon up against the front of the furniture he now sat upon. Stubbornly, he refused to remove his glare shades. "I don't think you want me comfortable."

That wasn't a threat. Or a boast. Instead it was the furtive observation of a man a bit too used to being on edge. The sort of edge that came from lack of familiarity. A sort that raised the hackles and stoked the furnace of the nerves.

Comfortable wasn't in the cards for him just then.

At least not yet.

[member="Saffron"]

 

[Saffron]

The right corner of her mouth would perk up again.

He amused her.

"So sure, Mistah Glim?" she'd ask, a tilting comforting twang in her voice again utilizing her abilities as an empath to soothe over any rough edges. Her body would come in and out between swaths of curtains, a hazy figure barely seen through the nearly transparent chiffon drapes.

The sound of water pouring into a glass would come next, as would her words.

"While this isn't a Guild Temple, hospitality is paramount for any Companion..." her blonde head would turn to shine him a warm smile.

"Your comfort is exactly what I want." that graceful drift and glide of her stride would bring him back to him. A hand would extend, showing him the clean glass with precious ice swirling within the confines of said requested refreshment.

Real spring water - not moisture farmed.

 

[Glim]

While she was gone, he busied himself cuffing the surgical gloves that covered his pale hands. Perfectly fit, snug, and dextrous. Perfectly so. But it had the added benefit of keeping his DNA of whatever he touched. Unconsciously, he found his finger running across the zipper of his duffel. But his attention was arrested when she slid back into his reality on what seemed like a curtain of air.

The woman had to be on a personal repulsorlift for all the lighter on her feet she was. "So you say." He says quietly, giving her a brief look from behind opaque glass before gratefully accepting the water and taking an appreciative gulp. He didn't down it, though, as he wasn't about to sink his core temperature that quickly.

He wouldn't know the difference between moisture farm and spring, though. This was maybe the third trip he'd ever made to this end of the galaxy.

"What's a Companion, anyway?"

 

[Saffron]

Now that did get an expression of surprise from the young woman.

Her smile grew a bit wider, the Companion draping herself alongside a nearby half couch of sorts. A hand would come up to rest her chin upon her palm.

"A Companion is a skilled, well-educated and well-respected member of a guild of professional artisans brought into the care of Miz Arceneau. " this was just the surface of course. Some would say that it was a sort of religious sect with a focus on the old Moross Pantheon. Head's of Companion Houses were called Priestesses and the Guildhouse itself referred to as Madrassa, a Ryl term for school.

There were heavy religious overtones to many Guild practices, such as the use of incense, a focus on contemplation, and a cloistered lifestyle.

"However... you mentioned items in your bag?"

 

[Glim]

"How queer." He says, taking another gulp and setting the glass down on the nearest surface; likely a table in front of him somewhere. An endtable would do, too. Whatever was at hand. It was unimportant. What was important was what he was doing just then. Suit pulling taut over his frame, he reached down and hefted the bag up. He threw it over to her where it landed with the distinct sounds of metal clanking and a few jingles.

A gloved hand was waved at it, and she'd easily be able to open the bag. There was no locks on it or anything. Depending on her strength it might be a bit too heavy to comfortably lift but otherwise she'd be fine.

A jewelry store's worth of jewelry, barring the pieces so inconsequential as to be worth leaving behind. There wasn't a mess of time to be picky, but if you had half a mind you could find the relatively expensive stuff quickly. Generally near the middle of the store, sometimes behind bulletproof glass. But not always.

He wasn't sure how much was in there, but he could take a few estimates based on similar jobs he'd pulled. "Have a look."

 

[Saffron]

Amusement would glitter within Saffron's hazel eyes.

Nonetheless, she would do as requested. It didn't take much to open the bag, her delicate hand gingerly would begin her investigation.

What would follow would be a rather curious, but clearly meticulous inspection of the jewelry contents. Much like a soldier would take apart his weapon and lay them before him in perfect precise form, so too would the Companion for every piece of jewelry.

Oh there was the typical Aurodium, diamonds, some sun-stones, lapis, Velmorite, even a rather curious Devaronian blood-poison ring. There were others, but certainly a large enough loot to lift the brows in curiousity.

However, there was a strict 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy when it came to such matters.

Standard haggling procedure meant that Saffron would start low. Nothing too obnoxious, but certainly a number she knew would be countered.

"Thirty-thousand," she would say after she was finished. The bartering would begin.

 

[Glim]

If she was curious, the scattergun propped next to him probably would eliminate that curiosity quite quick. "Sixty." He says back, voice still as nervous as ever. Perhaps it was simply how he was. A bit skittish. But there was just enough steel laced beneath it to show he wasn't all appearance and no backbone. Thirty was the low end for jewelry, funnily enough; 30 per person. The high end - really high end - that were doable?

Maybe 100. Per person.

But for what they'd rolled over they'd never get that amount of cash. Correction: He wouldn't.

Because the other two were dead. Funny how that worked. He had an inkling she wasn't going per person, though. It was just him here, after all. "Ain't from your backyard either, so it shouldn't cause you undo trouble."

 

[Saffron]

Saffron would mull over this, at least appear to mull over his offer. That was part of the haggling game of course. Granted, this also depended on just how quick Mr. [member="Glim"] was keen on getting rid of his pilfered goods.

He mentioned the goods were not from the local area, and while she wasn't about to ask, her empathic abilities told her that this was the truth.

"Forty-five." came her counter, hazel eyes lifting to lock upon those black lenses.

 

[Glim]

A fifteen jump was good. Although it also told him he was getting close to what she was imagining paying anyway. "Fifty." The shaded man retorts flatly, gloved hands wringing together. His nerves were still going. Man needed a stiff drink and a lay, probably. The former more than the latter. What he really needed was to get knocked out for a few days but that wasn't happening judging by how easy it was to make him fidget.

Hazel met hazel, although she'd not know the color, and a shoulder rose to brush across the faint black stubble lining his pale, gaunt jawline.

 

[Saffron]

"You drive a hard bargain Mistah @Glim." Saffron would say, but at least they came to a place where both would be happy.

That sealed the deal.

"Fifty." she told him, with a nod.

Now it was a matter of giving him his due. A quick pluck of a credit chip from a small purse and the input of the subsequent credits would transfer the funds to said chip.

A second later she would hold it out to him.

"A pleasure, Mistah Glim."

 

[Glim]

There was a glimmer of something behind those shades, but he said nary a word as she transferred the funds and handed over the chip. Reaching out with a gloved hand he delicately took ahold of the electronic currency and then pulled open his suit jacket. Tucking the chip away safely in an inner breast pocket, he gave it a faint pat to make sure it was secure before hefting his scattergun and downing another gulp of water.

Looking over to her, there was a pause as he mulled something over mentally. "I never considered fencing something an artisan would learn... but perhaps you Companions are well-educated." She could burn the bag later, it was of little consequence to him.

"We'll meet again." He says, before turning to get out of this place that smelled like one too many candles. Fresh air, even air filled with sand, was preferential just then.