That's Ille- What?

[Haytham Kaze]

Just and law abiding was what the former Jedi Padawan would describe himself as. He had broken ties with a friend once upon a time when he had first joined the Jedi Order because of his 'lawful' beliefs. Likely, that was a mistake. A mistake that he should never have made. Friends in the Underworld came around relatively never, and in Haytham's mind... Maybe they had been close.

Exhaling, the black haired male waled into the cantina. Something something Frogdog it was called. Who even read Hutt'ese anyway?

Taking in the dimmer lighting of the cantina, he paused for a moment in the doorway as he took it in, and then he headed towards one of the corners. It may have been a while, but Haytham knew that the safest place in the cantina was a corner. Funnily enough. A dark corner where you couldn't be seen that well, but you could see the rest of the cantina.

That was how this deal was going down. In the shadowy corners of the planet covered in filth and criminals. He never thought that he'd come to this, but there were things that the young male had to do.

So he got to his corner, perhaps a little too early. If his business 'partner' wanted to set up shop, a potential ambush, he'd be able to see the patrons before they came in. Besides, with the Force with him, he'd be able to see them coming from a mile away?

At least, that's the mindset that he went in with.

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Why did she constantly insist on seeing to these back alley business dealings personal? The question plagued her mind every single time she walked into one of these situations. Why couldn't these people just call her office and ask for their bloody merchandise like civilized folk? They always wanted the same things, mercs of a certain caliber, no questions. If not that then they were trying to weasel their way into some kind of special deal because their case was special, clearly. Oh, right. That was why she always came in person, to shut down or shot down the silver tongued "special cases."

Zenva stepped through the doorway of the dimly lit cantina dressed to the nines. Knee high leather riding boots clicked along the hardwood floors as she walked in. A black and red miniskirt shifted in time with the sway of her hips, just above the pair of blaster pistols riding in holsters on her thighs. A black and brown leather corset clung to her torso leaving her modest bust rather impressive looking. Atop all this she wore a blood red leather trench coat that served to conceal a multitude of other weapons from slug thrower pistols in shoulder rigs to the scatter blaster strapped to her lower back and more. Thirteen individual weapons in total, a walking armory.

Behind the Zabrak Matron two soldiers followed. Each clad, toe to horn, in heavy battle armor and loaded down with their own considerable arsenals. The two were nearly identical in their size and the only clear difference between them was the curve of the breast plate of the female soldier. One "Mister Irons" and the "Priest" Kil'kae, Zenva's two most trusted bodyguards.

Zenva made her way to an empty table in the back of the cantina and glided into a seat. The two soldiers with her took up positions between her and the rest of the bar. She had arrived. The rest was up to her perspective client.

[member="Haytham Kaze"]

 

[Haytham Kaze]

Haytham remained sat slumped back in the booth seat. He wasn't too inclined to appear too excited to see her. At least, he thought that was her? His grey eyes found the corset easily enough before he looked her up and down. Clearing his throat as she did take a seat, he didn't particularly try to hide the fact that he was staring at her chest, but after a moment he'd look up to her eyes and say, "I'm surprised you didn't send a subordinate." He'd cant his head to the side. "Unless you are one?" He'd question lightly, but it was a jest, probably not the best one for a situation like this.

She hardly seemed the type to enjoy a joke like that.

There was a trait that Haytham had liked from his original Master, [member="Kiskla Grayson"] from so long ago. She had the mind to go straight to the point and rarely did she dance around the point. He had adapted to that simply, but over time he had lost that ability and was easily distracted. Blinking, he'd place a single hand on the top of the booth beside him to lounge casually on it before he said, "How many slave soldiers do you have access to?"

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva was accustomed to being ogled, she counted on it more often than not. If a man was distracted by her body, he wouldn't have his mind on the business at hand. His attempt at a joke however, was met with narrowed eyes. "Do all the subordinates you deal with come with bodyguards?" She asked in an icy tone.

She watched him closely, yellow-red eyes ever narrowed. He was rather arrogant, or so she was convinced. The man lounged back in his seat as he asked his question. It incited a smile from The Blood Matron, her plush coal painted lips curving into a bow. "How many are you looking to acquire Mister..?" She asked.

[member="Haytham Kaze"]

 

[Haytham Kaze]

He may have been distracted by her body, but Haytham had plenty of interactions with beautiful women, most of the time he conducted himself in a well enough manner so there usually wasn't a reaction fostered on the woman's part. Pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, he shrugs again as he begins to straighten himself in the booth. "I suppose it depends on how useful you are to your boss," he says with an amused look in those grey eyes of his. That icy tone of hers showed she wasn't entertained, but he wasn't going to answer her directly and let her know that he had relatively no experience when it came to this stuff.

When she replied to his question with a question, he closed his eyes to feign thinking, but underneath those eye lids he felt as if his eyes were going to pop out of his skull.

Oh how he hated answers like that.

Well, I do that a lot. Guess this is what it's like.

He opens his eyes again, thankful for the dim corner that they were in as he says, "At least one hundred."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva's hands steepled in front of her as she lend forward. She studied the man closely, her yellow-red gaze trailing over his face. She was clearly not amused. She didn't react to his continued jokes beyond maintaining the cold look she was giving the man. For a few moments he considered his reply, the Zabrak remained silent while he did.

His answer told her a lot more than the young man could have imagined. A number yes but a large one that most slave masters would never consider using. One hundred armed men who hated you and everything you had forced on them. Why, you may as well put the barrel in your own mouth and save the slaves the trouble of killing you. Worse still, he had provided a number but nothing more. He hadn't asked or commented on a species. He hadn't indicated their purpose or reason. Frell, if she brought him one hundred Ewoks armed with sharpened sticks she would have lived up to her end of the bargain. If he refused to pay then she would be well within her rights to shot him for reneging on their deal.

She shook her head slowly, a small smile playing at her lips. "One hundred? Alright. When and where do you want them?"

[member="Haytham Kaze"]