Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The 'annual' Haseria District Faire

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
Contentious opinion: Mandalorians were somewhat competitive.

Tooling around in Beskar space, Walker had arrived upon many pieces of free, largely useless knowledge. This farmer disliked that one for horning in on his market, for example, or that this clan had non-combat issues with this other clan based upon whatever, he hadn't really been paying attention once the idea had occurred to him to turn this aimless and largely benign animosity into something that could be useful, be harnessed. Basically, something that he could turn a profit from.

And so, the Annual Haseria Faire had been born! Annual, because there'd been one on that planet at some point, or some sort of competition roughly approximating a faire. It was close enough for his work. Convincing various farmers, chili cooks, and the like to show up had been as easy as suggesting that their rivals had already signed up, and might win a prize or accolade with them absent from the contest. Categories like 'fattest hog', 'greatest musician', 'largest vegetable', or 'best roast' had brought eager competitors from far and wide, happy to pay a modest price for a stall or entranced fee. Enough to hire on some security and stake out a slice of Haseria to host the thing.

The festivities were in full swing, Walker reflected cheerfully as he counted his earnings and considered a swift egress. The smell of fried food, livestock, guitars sounds and beer lingered in the air, and he was fairly sure that this field would forever be more mud than soil. Which was nice, because he wasn't accountable for the condition of the grass.

The only thing that could ruin the game, would be if the Mandos got too wild. Then there might be insurance issues and angry farmers expecting better security... But more importantly, it'd be hard to set this racket up again next year. Walker wasn't overly concerned, anyway. Everyone knew that Mandalorians had cultural ways of settling arguments in a civilized manner, right?
 
Mandalorian covens were fantastic for a few things. Firstly, food, which was only a surprise to people who knew nothing about Mandalorians. Everything they did, they did with gusto and verve, and everything they enjoyed, they enjoyed with similar enthusiasm. Food fit into both categories, so as a people they were very proud of it. Raz had never been one for Mando food, honestly - they used a sort of dusty, woody spice that was neither fiery nor smooth - but it was certainly popular enough to draw huge crowds. Their incredible proficiency in smoking and frying basically everything was also well-documented, and the Annual Haseria Faire smelled like the jerky aisle of a CreditSave as a result.

Secondly, booze. Normally, Mandalorian alcohol came in two flavors: it was either cheap, or hard. Career soldiers understood the need for those two kinds of drinks. One was easy enough on logistics to ship out to the frontline in large enough quantities to keep a full detachment content, and the other was strong enough to get you drunk no matter how sturdy your constitution. Unlike the food, Razelle had no problem with Mando beer. In fact, she was about three cups down as she wandered back towards the further tents.

Thirdly, raw competition. It didn't matter what shape it took, Mandalorians loved to prove that they were more X than everyone else. Normally this was "a better fighter," and yeah, sure, the Haseria Faire had plenty of wrestling rings and brawling circles and firing ranges. But they also had riding competitions and cooking competitions and bragging competitions... There was a not insignificant part of Raz that half-expected them to figure out how to have a competing competition sooner or later. It made things very loud and very sweaty, especially with all of the armor everyone was wearing on a pretty sunny day.

Most importantly, though, the Mandalorian people were known for their obsession with guns. After high-tailing it out of GA space and now laying low from her nonsense on Secundus Ando, Raz was low on resources and in need of hardware. She'd scalped a few people of their money (and actually scalped one guy, to get somebody else's money, too) to fund a refurbishing of her armory. Rippers and scatterguns and heavy rifles...if there was one thing that a Mando celebration could be proud of, it was its impressive assortment of sheer murder implements.

Presently, brandishing her half-empty fourth cup of beer, she examined a sturdy-looking ripper pistol with a discerning smirk. It felt good to be her own woman again.
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
When a well-shaped blonde rolled past a gentleman, he did not stare. He might look, but he most certainly did not stare! No matter how unaccompanied she appeared to be, no matter how her swag implied she'd come to the fair to spend money, no matter how her posture suggested the sort of confident self-assurance that allowed one to overlook getting scammed as a one-time mistake instead of a professional slight. No, a gentleman did not take advantage of such a lady.

Walker rolled up beside [member="Razelle Breuner"] with a broad smile, tipping an invisible hat in greetings. "Good afternoon, madam - I trust you are enjoying this time afternoon, these fine festivities, all this good company." He rambled in a voice that didn't SOUND especially hurried, even though words tumbled rapid-fire from his lips like slugs from a machine gun. It was an odd talent, to be sure.

"You've a confident look about you, but you've also got a LOOK about you, and I'm not just talking about those shorts!" Walker continued cheerfully. "No, you look like a woman who knows what she wants and goes and gets it, no questions asked, no hesitation, so I ask - what if I was offering a product you might not even know was on offer? The sort of once-in-a-lifetime find that you might never seek, but INSTEAD, finds you?" Walker asked in a hushed, excited tone.
 
Of course she was wearing shorts. It was hot out.

...Also this entire place screamed "daisy dukes" and she'd be a fool not to listen to her instincts.

Razelle Breuner had good instincts. Sharp instincts. Instincts that had kept her alive for years, despite a momentary few centuries of setbacks. And when approached by a smooth-talking charmer with fanciful hair, sharp dress, and a delicate jawline, her instincts told her to deck him in the gut. That said, she was trying out that whole "human" thing, so she didn't go with that first impulse. People tended to take offense to unprovoked attacks on their person, and just because this guy looked like a ponce didn't mean he necessarily was one, or that he didn't have a few friends waiting in the wings.

So instead, she didn't make eye contact, finished her beer in one breath, and checked the gun in a dramatic, very loud fashion. Clicks and whirs and glowing lights... it wasn't loaded, of course, and rippers required very specific power packs to function. But chances were this nancy boy didn't know that. As she finally spoke, she eyed her way down the barrel. "I've never been much of one for surprises."

She turned to face the (tall, apparently) man beside her, the final bits of the Mandalorian-crafted handheld disintegrator whirling and chirping into place right as the barrel came to level towards his chest. "So don't surprise me."

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
Yyyyikes. Where was Alnice when he needed her?

A few jumps back, of course, dealing with some new tragedy. Even so, practiced reflexes helped Walker not to panic as he had a gun centered on his poor, shriveled heart. "I can see my assessment had some merit to it." Walker chided with a sly wink, taking care to keep his hands visible and away from anything that might make her think he was going for a weapon.

That gun looked like it'd been made for her hand. Nice. Hopefully she had some credits left. "What if I told you that I have, in my pocket, an accredited map leading to a cache of famous Krayt Dragon jewels left in secret by the pirate Ironwolf?" Walker asked, once more in a hushed tone, a genial grin dominating his features in spite of the disintigrator threatening to unmake a few critical organs.

"Now, I'm not going to pretend it's an easy acquisition; there's allegedly some remnants squatting on the asteroid they've been secreted away in, you see." Walker continued. "Far too many for the likes of me, but you! Why, you've the lithe, powerful build of a nexu alpha! Power and skill radiate from every sinewy, supple inch of you! I've no doubt you could make off with the treasure, no question. I'm fairly sure you could simply clean the place out!" Walker complimented. "And wouldn't THAT be a feather in your cap to go with all that newfound wealth, hmm? A little asteroid base to call your own?"
 
Oh. One of these types.

Once again, Raz wanted to kick out one of his knees and throw him into a garage nearby so he'd wake up smelling like motor oil and bitter recriminations. She didn't, though. Not going with her gut reaction to a situation the moment it occurred took actual effort. Instead, she raised one eyebrow, flicked the gun around, and returned it to the table it had been sitting on. "Let me innumerate the problems with that scenario for you, hot stuff."

The little blonde, all tone and definition, and the smell of burnt stimulants, reared on her suitor and poked a finger into his chest. "First, I'm one person. You could feed this to a team of mercs or pirates easily, which means you've either got a bogus map or you're going to be jacking the price up to be juuust under everything I have on me." She poked again. "Next, if there are people squatting there, why don't they know about this treasure? Why are they still squatting on a condemned asteroid base full of riches?" A moment's pause. "Also, I'm no expert on economics, but I'm pretty sure an asteroid base's upkeep costs would run a fortune born from sudden windfall dry in less than a year."

When she shook her head and turned back around to look at another gun, Raz tapped her databracer. A quick visual scan of this guy, run him through some common-access databases... With how strong he came on, chances were he had a record. Solicitation, at least. "I'm a reasonable woman. Go ahead and cover your bases." It wasn't like she had any pressing schedule to keep.

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
"Good, hard hitting questions, ma'am - I'm glad you asked them." Walker explained slyly, taking the opportunity to slide back a half-step and rub the spot she'd stabbed her finger at. "Shows that I've got the right woman for the job, the sort of forward-thinking, capable, self-motivated mindset required to rise above the chaff and distinguish herself as the cream of the wheat!" Walker boasted boldly, throwing his arms out to either side. "Walker Twin-Sleeves has a good eye, after all, when it comes to talent! And I've the unique privilege to be him, of course, of course. But see..."

Walker stepped in again, dropping his voice to a whisper. "There's nothing to keep you from abandoning the base once you retrieve, madam - I understand entirely. The freedom to make your own choices, to be your own boss..." his hand spread toward the horizon grandly. Toward Razelle's horizon. "You've already decided on your path, the allure of becoming a pirate lord or clan leader can't compare to the vagabond lifestyle you enjoy. You want to take your treasure and go! Less responsibilities, not more!"


"And I understand that you don't know me from Revan, madam, that's fine." Walker assured the blonde smoothly. "Trust me, I'm not asking a princely ransom on pure faith - just a small consideration when you've made it big." Walker explained with an amicable smile. "One thousand credits up front, for the information - and the crystal it comes on - and two percent of the eventual take." He addressed cheerfully. "Pocket change, really, I know."

Walker's name - and face - popped up in a couple dozen databases for minor fraud, solicitation, evading arrest or obstruction of justice. And, occasionally, the small bounties that came with making a career of pissing people off. He - and occasionally she - was small time, but slippery, save for a years-old, standing bounty of a considerable sum for the safe return of an Atrisian merchant's daughter: wanted alive for questioning in a vehicular assault and murder case.
 
A thousand credits was a noticeable sum. Raz had robbed, scalped, and stolen at least one more zero than that, so she wouldn't quite notice it missing, in the long run. On the other hand, this little idiot was worth almost ten times that back home...or whatever an Atrisia was. She quickly flicked her databracer off and spun on him, eyes suddenly alight with something far more dangerous than skepticism and a gun.

Her stare had the fire of an idea.

"Two thousand," she counterproposed, a smirk not quite bored and not quite unhinged struggling its way across her face. "And five percent of the haul...on one condition." The blonde left a hand on her hip and leaned back on one heal, contraposto. "This deal seems like it could pay out pretty well, or it could flop in my face and you take off with a pretty nice sum of my hard-earned money." Not technically untrue. It'd been hard work to murder six people in their homes and steal their credit accounts then filter and disseminate the bounty through three dozen shell accounts to launder it properly.

"So two thousand, and five percent. But as you're a much greater part in this, you see me to the treasure." Her eyebrows arched down in a menacing, predatory smirk, eyes narrowed, fangs teeth visible through parted lips. If she could look any more like a hunting maalraas, she might spontaneously grow scales. "I'm an exceedingly dangerous person. You said so yourself. You'll be perfectly safe."

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
Mmmmnope, a bridge too far. There was skepticism, and that was normal from a cynical mark. Walker could assuage that, impart confidence and ease his target into an idea. But more than anything, a critical survival skill for any salesman - or con man - was knowing when you were wasting your time or worse: when you'd been selling your idea to someone who wasn't having it. This leggy blonde wasn't having it, and had some other motive now in play. Maybe she wanted to specifically prove to him that this wonderous haul of buried treasure wasn't real before exacting revenge, maybe she just wanted to lure him off somewhere isolated and whip his behind for trying. More likely, she wasn't buying it and was doubling down on his offer in an attempt to call his bluff.

"A tempting offer, ma'am, if only for the promise of an opportunity to spend more time with a skilled beauty like you." Walker mused thoughtfully, folding his arms and rubbing his chin in an almost theatrical manner. "My only reservation when it comes to the idea of riding off into the sunset with you in search of riches and glory is that - alas! - I've so many responsibilities here on Haseria that require my presence! I could not abandon my good wotd, oh no; Walker Twin-Sleeves nothing else if not a man of his word, it is my bond, after all." The blue-haired man explained, tossing his walking stick from one hand to the other, the point digging into the soft and well-trodden soil underfoot. At some point in his gesticulating, he'd moved nearly a full step away from the blonde.

"I shall need time to think on your offer, but more importantly, as one of the key organizers at play here, my presence is required through to the end of the faire." Walker elaborated, gesturing to the sprawling celebration of competition and fried food that surrounded them. Somewhere, a hog squealed obnoxiously. "If you will but favor me with your communications information, at the end of this faire I will gladly contact you and we can arrange what you've suggested, make our fortunes together. It'll be a grand story, I'm sure! One for the ages!" Walker settled into an amicable grin, a hand on his waist as he spoke. "But I cannot depart until the day after tomorrow, or tomorrow at the soonest. You know how it is. Vital leadership is being provided."

[member="Razelle Breuner"]
 
Yep. Work on your sales pitch, kid. If you're going to have an open that'll trick yokels, maybe target the yokels instead of the sharpest knife you can see. Razelle wasn't about to let a cool eight thousand walk away from her, though. That was enough to keep her afloat for about a month on its own, which was enviable considering she was probably going to wind up blowing through quite a bit of her reserves on supplies here. Her smirk eased up a bit, more teasing and jovial...though any decent con-man would be able to see the crease of her brow that clearly signaled she was actively trying for that. Internally, every part of Raz wanted to shoot this idiot child up with enough tranquilizer to floor a ronto and throw him bodily into a locked room on her ship.

No. The blonde hesitated for an important reason. There was more to it than just the target. She needed to know where his backup was. There was no way he was running a fishing game like this alone. Maybe just thugs in the crowd, or muscle waiting around the back of this little hut. Maybe snipers on the rooftops. Whatever it was she could handle it, but she had to know what it was first. Snipers...that'd be the trick. She had an answer for that, though. Flash polarization wasn't standard on most scopes.

"You sure about that? I'd say our relationship could get pretty profitable. Thousands of credits, just waiting to be made." Once again, she lost control of her grin. Dark. Feral. "Maybe four times what I offered you." Eight thou on his homeworld. Chances were he knew that number pretty well.

Raz tensed her legs, reached into her pocket, and prepped for the chase.

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
Ah, okay. "You know what?" He pondered aloud. "That sounds like a darn fine idea. I'll have to take you up on that, beautiful." Walker decided thoughtfully, crossing his arms. "There ain't no reason to make a big deal of this. Just a man, jet-setting off with a beautiful lady, right?"

Hopefully, for just a heartbeat, she'd think he was coming quietly. Walker lashed out at the leg of a nearby food stand, shattering the wood - small bits of rotisserie poultry and roast flew everywhere. In the same moment, the slight conman dove in a safer direction, trying to climb behind and through a tent selling clothes.

"SITH!" A panicked young girl's voice cried out from somewhere else. "That blonde Sith has a lightsaber!" Not the most dignified way to make his escape, Walker knew, but worked up create havoc. In an instant, a hundred guns were drawn and every blond was a suspect.
 
"Of course," Razelle muttered quietly to herself. She really would have preferred to just get the drop on him. He didn't have any backup, apparently, and his exit strategy was similar to her own: sow as much chaos as possible then make yourself scarce in the panic. That said, she hadn't wanted to push her luck. It was a calculated risk, and she had a calculated response. Unfortunately, she'd been overly cautious for nothing...

But fortunately, her quarry was polite enough to let her know he was running before he alerted the crowd. Razelle reached into the rear pouch of her vest as he started moving, pulling out a little cylinder. She tapped two buttons on it and threw it into the air, just as half the crowd around her drew their guns and darted their heads towards the source of the loud sounds and confusion. There was a little spinning red-and-blue light on that object, designed to catch the eye, which made it all the more effective when, as Raz ducked down and covered her ears, it popped, producing a calamitous barrage of light and sound.

Much, much louder and brighter than any normal explosive. Military-grade flash grenade.

The dazed and dazzled Clan Mandos around her staggered for a few brief seconds as Raz took a runner's knee and bolted off after her prey. It wasn't difficult to spot a tall, willow, blue-haired man actively running for his life in a crowd of stunned, visually- and audibly-assaulted armored murder-cultists. Not unlike a shark that caught the scent of blood, she tore after her prey with wild, starving abandon.

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
A person with a cape was as easy to spot as somebody with blue hair, and Walker had taken steps against both. After all, he'd ducked into a clothing tent - even at a dead sprint, it'd been pretty easy to throw his his good cape over some stunned man's shoulders, pulling a hat over his hair as he did so. A scheme he'd played before, and a large part of the reason he dressed so distinctly.

Unfortunately for Walker, his hunter wasn't an idiot and likely spotted the ploy immediately. Even with a woman's sun hat on, Walker was still tall, unarmored, and moving against the crowd. And actively shedding clothes, for that matter, down to a loose white tunic and shorts. Spooked by Razelle's predatory approach like only a prey animal - or, honestly, a scavenger - could be, he drew in a breath and hopped a fence.

A river ran by the faire, used for fishing contests and the like. Right now, there was a log-rolling competition. Walker took a deep breath and dove into the murky water - after all, no bounty hunter wanted to get her tools wet, right?

Right?!
 
How do you keep eye contact on someone tall in a crowd? Get some air. Razelle took a few big steps as she continued her pursuit, each one taking her to a slightly new position. The first raised her onto a table that was previously covered in kitschy trinkets and baubles probably intended to make tourists think they could bring home something "Mandalorian." Two more and she planted her feet firmly on the edge of the table, leaping up onto the roof of the little yurt-tent-nonsense next to the first one. Plasteel easily supported her weight. After another three clomps of her combat boots on the roof of someone's livelihood, she vaulted over to the next stall, still keeping her eyes on her blue-haired bounty.

He had a hat on. A ridiculous hat, naturally. Judging by his path he was either going to try to lose her on the other side of the bridge, or in the water. Her boots would make it difficult to match laps with a lanky, long-limbed larcenist, so why not even the odds? As he began his dive, the blonde reached into her hip-pocket and pulled out an adhesive grenade, set it to a short fuse with a quick flick of her thumb, and slowed her gait enough to get a proper Huttball pitch going. With luck, the wonderfully aerodynamic projectile would detonate its sticky payload about two meters above the water's surface about half a second before the fugitive even got wet.

Hopefully that would slow him down enough for her to keep up, because it took her a good seven seconds to dive off of the tents, bulldoze through about seven people, two in armor, and dive headfirst into a strange river she had no idea of the parasite content of. At this point, though, she wasn't going to allow him to get away. Not for the money, or because he'd slighted her by trying to escape. No...she needed to catch him. She needed to pin him beneath her body and choke the consciousness from his throat. At some fundamental level, she felt compelled.

Raz would have to talk to Dr. Colleen about that later.

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

Walker Twin-Sleeves

For only chits on the credit!
Walker was a fairly strong swimmer, as a young adult who stayed in fairly decent shape and had long limbs. He was NOT 'get grenade-shocked and keep going' levels of good, though. The airbust had winded him the moment he hit the water, so instead of flowing downstream at a high rate of underwater speed, he was forced to the surface to sputter and cough like a lameass. Being on the surface only made it easier to see the blonde coming after him like he owed her money, too. For a short stack, she was TERRIFYING in motion. She didn't even hesitate before diving into the water.

Coughing and wheezing, Walker pulled himself out of the water - looking kind of like a soaked, miserable housecat compared to the jaguar in hot pursuit. Or, perhaps, a lanky and panicked deer. Either way, his looming captor looked like a madwoman and Walker could barely breathe. Raising a hand in surrender toward Razelle, the blue-haired fugitive coughed up more river water and scrambled up the mud bank toward grass.

If he was going to get beat up, cuffed, and tased, better it be on the grass.
 
The water soaked into Razelle's clothes as she dove in, undaunted. Most of the pouches on her vest were waterproof, but she'd definitely have to clean and dry out a few things before she powered them back on. More importantly, her little payday hadn't had the fortitude to escape live ordnance, which made him possible to catch up to, even with heavy boots. As she stalked out of the water, dripping trails behind her and leaving soggy footprints. Every sopping step brought her ever-closer, far more ominous than someone her size had any right to be.

When the young man she'd been hounding turned over and flew the white flag, she didn't stop. She reached into one of those waterproof pouches and started fishing for something. Naturally, he was going to try to say something witty or make an offer. There was a pretty good chance it would be a distraction for an escape plan, and Raz wasn't having that at this point.

At around a distance of two meters, Raz increased her pace from a slow, imposing stalk to a very sudden bolt, her hand shooting forward as she melted into a practice K'tara takedown maneuver, the nami skyla. There was something white between her fingers as they shot for the blue-haired man's face, her other arm attempting to pin him down with a brace against his throat, right along the jugular.

"Hey, I realize you're out of breath," she said softly as her body fell upon him, "but I gotta get your opinion. Does this smell like chloroform to you?"

[member="Walker Twin-Sleeves"]
 

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