The Beggar: A Price Too High

[Veshi]

CORUSCANT UNDERCITY, A'KAESH DISTRICT​

​

"Veshi.." The blood-haired youth ignored his companion, holding a single finger in the air. The air in the Undercity had taken some getting used to for the young Kiffar at first, having spent most of his childhood on various spaceships. Those ships were as different from each other as Hutt coins were from Galactic credits, but the air had been the same. Cold, thin and easy to breathe. The air here was different; hot and thick with smog. Yes, it had taken some getting used to, but that had been five years ago. Now the air of the Undercity was as natural to Veshi as the grime and soot that had dulled his blood red hair to the colour of damp rust. The air that could be found in space-faring vessels was long forgotten, just like his other childhood memories. They were pressed down to the bottom of the deep barrel that was his psyche ... not completely forgotten, but not remembered either. Survival was his creed now, and his brain functioned perfectly in order to do that. It was quick, cluey and suspicious of others. Because of that, he had survived into his mid-teens when most street rats in A'Kaesh did not. And he had survived well.

"Veshi-" Veshi cut off the young Twi'lek girl with an impatient wave of his hand. He perched silently on the upper ledge of the base of one of Coruscant's tallest skyscrapers, but he didn't know that. Beyond a certain level, Veshi knew nothing. He knew the streets though, and knew that this ledge provided a perfect vantage point from which to watch the cantina across the street. So he watched quietly. The Kiffar youth was as still as the ledge he perched on, and when he spoke he did not look away from the cantina.

"Can you read, Cold Soup?" Veshi's voice was calm, so much so it was almost silent.

"No, Veshi." The young Twi'lek held back a measure in incredulity. There weren't many street rats who could read. That was an opportunity that they had not been afforded.

"Hmmm.." The young Kiffar pondered that quietly. "Well, the right words can be more valuable than credits to the right person."

The Twi'lek girl, who couldn't have been any more than eleven, had nothing to say to that. She was hungry. They all were, and in that state a bit of wisdom was a lot less interesting than a cred chit or a hot meal. Veshi knew that as well as anyone ... he just realised that a bit of wisdom led to more cred chits and more hot meals. It was simple logic, but one that escaped most that shared his predicament. The young Kiffar did not blame them. He'd been there too; young, hungry and desperate. He still was, in some ways. But not as much as he had been. He now had twenty credits in his rainy-day fund ... a veritable fortune by his standards, and much more than anyone else in A'Kaesh.

"See that Sullustan?" Veshi's ears pricked up as he noticed his target exit the cantina, datapad in hand. "I want you to follow him, find out where he sleeps, then watch the place. Send someone for me and I'll come to meet you there."

Veshi palmed the girl a half-cred chit. Paying up front had its advantages, especially now that the more dishonest street rats knew what happened when one tried to take advantage of Veshi's generosity. A human boy named Poke had taken his chit and done a runner ... but if anyone could find out where the boy slept at night, it was Veshi. The young Kiffar had burned everything the boy owned in revenge, which in turn had attracted Coruscant Sec's attention. Veshi had learned from that too, but still, no one tried him anymore. Patting Cold Soup on the shoulder, the blood-haired youth swung down from the ledge and faded into the shadows. He had that knack. Everyone knew Veshi, but one could rarely find him. That was a useful talent in a business like this, where a famous information broker usually ended up a dead one.

Fifteen minutes later, Veshi was at his usual begging post after business hours, the doorway of a dodgy Atrisian noodle restaurant. The Kiffar youth didn't really need to beg anymore, but he did so anyway. Mostly out of habit, and to keep up appearances ... it was routine, and he didn't want anyone getting any ideas regarding Veshi and credits. Someone might try something, and he might not be able to stop them. So he sat in the doorway, pulling his blanket around his shoulders with his begging bowl lying in front of him, and began to rest.

One eye remained open.

[member="Darth Janus"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

@[member='Veshi']

"A moment. This is all terribly interesting, but-" Tyrin turned away from the Sullustan, reaching an empty hand out for a shadowy space not too far from them.

A split-second, then a shriek from a small child as an invisible hand closed around her chest and flung her out of her hiding spot. The blue Twi'lek skidded face-first across the damp durasteel ground before coming to a halt at the feet of the four men assembled there. Darth Janus, the Sullustan, and two stormtroopers. An eavesdropper. An unusually young one of a rarer sort of Twi'lek breed, but an eavesdropper none-the-less. A street rodent. One of hundreds of millions.

Tyrin was not a child murderer. It was not a status he cared to lower himself to claim. However, in this particular instance, he was sorely tempted. The blue Twi'lek runt immediately started up the waterworks, whimpering and blubbering incessantly as she struggled to her knees, cowering before the Umbaran Sith Lord. Already it was starting to get on his nerves. If this had been an older informant, Tyrin would have forcibly yanked whatever information he wanted out of her and sent her on her marry way. They probably wouldn't have cried about it either, but girls will be girls.

But he had a feeling such an ordeal would tend to kill children, so he refrained. The rest of the party stood silent, opting to not interrupt whatever Darth Janus was getting at here.

"Your name?" Tyrin asked, impatience more evident in his voice than anything else.
Between trying to catch her breath, the child stammered out her reply. "C-c--c-Cold S-Soup."

There was an eerie pause after that, and everyone present aside from Tyrin found themselves wondering what would happen next. Cold Soup even managed to start get a hold of herself in the ensuing silence.

"That is, without doubt, the stupidest name I have ever heard." Tyrin turned his head to address the three men behind him. "Can you believe this? Cold Soup of all things. Who the hell names these people?"

The child's wailing picked up again right after that, increasing in volume, apparently unaware. She was apparently unaware of Tyrin's stance on child murder. Most people were. It was not a stance Tyrin had need to expound on very often. Frankly, he would like to imagine the galaxy was open-minded enough to assume that even as a Sith he was above such actions until proven wrong. Whatever the case, Tyrin did not like his affairs being meddled in. Without a doubt someone had instructed Lukewarm Bouillon here to spy on the Sullustan.

"Now then, Miss... Soup." Tyrin began, now kneeling so that he was eye-level with the little twerp. His spooky, scary Sith mask now closer to her face, Tyrin could feel the girl's terror intensify. It was good someone thought his mask was scary. It didn't work nearly as well on adults. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Please answer to the best of your ability."

-----​

The Force cloak dropped abruptly and, to the naked eye of the beggar wrapped up outside some bottom feeder restaurant, it would seem as though Darth Janus just blinked into existence right in front of him. For all Tyrin's silent talk of avoiding cliche, he looked every bit like a Sith. Dark robes, dark armor, spooky golden mask. He was either the real deal or a very convincing cosplay. From his stance and the fact that he practically oozed with the unnerving and corrupting presence of the Dark side would also tip off the observant that, no, he was not just a neck-beard in a costume.

His lightsaber was held in his hand. Also the real deal, in case that hadn't been obvious. Tyrin had no intention of using it, but it was always a grand display of authority and power.

"Stand." He commanded Veshi. His tone stentorian and betraying impatience. Same as earlier. "Don't run. You won't get far."

 

[Veshi]

One part of Veshi's mind dreamed of times long past with an illusory sense. Those times long past were memories repressed but unforgotten, yet they felt like mere dreams. Those experiences were cold to the touch, like durasteel ... they did not awaken emotion in the youth. For the realm of dreams was firmly rooted in the subconscious. The mind does not truly forget, it just copes with difficult memories by taking away their connection to reality. Veshi's past no longer felt connected to who he was today. That was why his mind wandered the way it did, especially when at rest. But that was only one part of his mind. The other part watched the street for trouble. One grey eye roamed from passerby to passerby through his dark eyelashes, searching for threats ... namely cops or bully boys from other parts of the A'Kaesh. It found little of note. The street lacked any notable incoming trouble, but it also lacked any real tangible kindness. Veshi's bowl was still empty after half an hour, though that was not uncommon. People rarely had many credits to share in the Undercity, and those who had it rarely had any inclination for charity. That was the way things were down here.

The young Kiffar's eye wandered down to his bowl, and then back up just in time to see an armoured, dark-robed figure with a golden mask appear out of thin air. Shock punched Veshi in the gut. The feeling was raw and extremely tangible. He struggled to speak but realised that his mind had not yet caught up to what his eyes had seen. He also realised that he was standing, and that he had not understood a word that the masked man had said. It was something in the way that the man held himself that Veshi found utterly intimidating ... something elusive. The youth could not pick it out yet, but his mind and body were finally catching up with his eyes. He realised how stupid he must have looked, jerking abruptly to his feet and gaping open-mouthed at the robed figure, so he sought to compose himself. He did so quickly, fixing the man with a stare. It wasn't insolent ... within Veshi's grey eyes, there was a spark where there hadn't been before. It spoke of curiosity and raw intelligence, and a thirst for knowledge. The Kiffar youth hadn't looked like that for a long time.

Realising that he had backed against the transparisteel door, Veshi straightened himself and removed his shoulders from the cold surface behind him. His blanket lay on the floor, but he had forgotten it. There was still cool fear lying in his gut, and it heightened his senses. The robed man meant business ... he aimed to survive it.

"How did you do that?" The Force? Magic? A little of both? Whatever it was, the young Kiffar knew that he wanted to learn how to do that, and that he would learn to do it before he died or fail with a sense of finality in the attempt.

 

[Caulder Dune]

Panic resonated off of the kid, and Tyrin secretly drank it in. He frequently basked in the raw, negative emotions given off by others. It was his opium, so to speak. It made him stronger. Not in this instance, mind you. A single boy experiencing the shock and awe of a Sithling appearing right in front of him wasn't going to propel him to new heights, but it was still delicious to drink in. Then in a few moments it became panic and... Curiosity. Strange. Most people Darth Janus spooked just stuck with panic. They rarely became curious of the methods by which he had spooked them.

The kid shot up like a bat out of hell, mouth agape as he pressed his back into the door of the restaurant. His blanket was lost in the terror-fueled transition. Only when the horror was swapped out for curiosity did the teenager make any attempt to compose himself. That he did spoke volumes of his status in this most wretched of cesspits. The Twi'lek runt hadn't been so graceful, even towards the end. Tyrin wasn't expecting that kind of show from this guy, though. This street vermin was older, probably wiser, and more accustomed to his life than the Twi'lek. He had also been implicated as a ringleader and such traits were to be expected. A rat leading rats. Tyrin wasn't terribly impressed. A cheap protocol droid could probably do a better job of organizing such a ring.

"Fairy dust, primarily." Darth Janus replied, a sarcastic response that didn't necessarily match with his menacing appearance.

"That'll be the last question you ask for the time being. What's your name, boy?"

 

[Veshi]

"Fairy dust, primarily." Had Veshi expected a straight-forward response? Perhaps not, but in the deepest depths of his heart he had hoped for some sort of illumination. But it was clear that the masked man would not be providing any such response, and even more so that he was not the type to be pressed. The young Kiffar was left to his own imagination to divine the answer. It was a trick of light, he decided. The masked man had managed to ... what, bend light around himself to disguise his form? Either the man had created an energy field to bend the light and sound around himself, or he had increased his own density a thousand-fold. Veshi was willing to bet all of his worldly possessions that it was the former. But the blood-haired youth knew that attempting to get confirmation from the sinister apparition in front of him would be a quick path to the realm of pain.

Veshi's survival instincts were hardened after five years on the streets, and he trusted his gut feelings with his life. Often, his gut would overreact, and force him to hide where it was not necessary to do so. This was a small price to pay to prolong his existence, and so the trusting symbiosis with head and heart continued. Now, his gut was telling him to swallow all pride and cooperate as best he could. The masked master of illusion had the balance of power here, and the boy knew not to try to upset the balance. Survival was his game. He watched the masked man for any hints of weakness or folly, and found none as yet. Fear still gripped him, but it was manageable. His senses were heightened, and to tell the truth he felt more alive than he could remember.

"Veshi." That was all the man had asked for, and that was what he would receive. The young Kiffar would not venture more ... mistakes made here could prove to be more costly than he could imagine. And he could imagine quite a bit.

[member="Darth Janus"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

Tyrin had already known his name, of course. Frigid Broth or whatever the girl's name was had spilled those beans without too much prompting. He only wanted to see if this kid was going to try and lie to him. Apparently he was smarter than that. That was good, dealing patiently with dullards had never been a favorite pastime of Tyrin. There was a pause after Veshi gave his name, as the Umbaran had habitually waited for a surname to follow. An eerie silence that clung to the air as a clearly expectant Sith Lord loomed over Veshi. The unsympathetic black eyes of the expressionless mask the Umbaran wore bored into the boy. Probably something that could have been shrugged off if there weren't a super-powered maniac wearing it.

"Oh, right." He eventually said, realizing his mistake and breaking the short-lived silence. "No surname, right? Gutter baby and all that."

He snickered derisively, reaching behind his back and withdrawing a half-cred chip. The Umbaran held the credit chip up to Veshi, turning it around between his fingers so the beggar could see the whole thing. Cred chips were mostly indistinguishable, but he would likely remember this particular one as the one he had given to Cold Soup. After Tyrin had gotten done with her, she didn't have much use for it. It would be put to far better use attempting to unnerve this Veshi.

"Good, honest answer, though. I like that. Keep it up. Who did you give this to?"

 

[Veshi]

Not a gutter baby, actually. The thought crossed his mind instinctively, reflexively ... painfully. Veshi could not remember his parents' faces, or even their names, but he could remember that they had existed. Lived, died ... he remembered what they were. That was a memory that had not popped up in the young Kiffar's mind for some time, and now that it arose it permeated with a consistent dull ache, pounding slowly away at his mind. It was an ache of pain and loss; not that he remembered the 'losing' of his parents at all. It was just the lack of memory that hurt him most, and so Veshi did what all intelligent people do when they're hurt emotionally ... he crushed the feeling down until it was nothing, or the closest possible thing there could be to nothing. He was Veshi the street rat, and he lived in the now. The past wasn't worth dredging up ... there was only pain to be found there.

The half-cred chit glinted in the masked man's hand, which got the boy's attention quickly enough. Cred chits had a habit of doing that to Veshi. He almost looked at it with a fierce hunger but caught himself at the last minute. It wouldn't do to appear desperate. Regardless, quick deduction allowed the blood-haired youth to guess the prior events that had led this man to his doorstep, quite literally. The masked man had caught Cold Soup, and the little girl had spilled the beans. Veshi didn't blame her a bit. This man was intimidating to say the least, and evidently more powerful than anything the boy could care to imagine. What he was doing in A'Kaesh was beyond him. Veshi's eyes glinted. The man was both interesting and dangerous. He hoped to survive this encounter, and with what meager knowledge he could gain from it, he would take and profit from. Go forth, multiply his knowledge, and become just as dangerous as the man in front of him.

"A little blue Twi'lek girl." Veshi's face betrayed nothing. His time on the streets had made him hard to read. "I think you two have met."

[member="Darth Janus"]

 

[Caulder Dune]

@[member='Veshi']

"Oh, yes. Good observation." Janus said. "Incidentally, she mewled helplessly the entire time. Not a lot of bravery in that one."

Tyrin could see it in the kid's eyes. A flash of pain at the mention of gutter babies. Touchy subject, he imagined. Most of the urchins crowding the underground were rather insecure about their status in life. That was no surprise. If Darth Janus was a scrawny, malnourished little toad living in abject poverty and filth, he would have a bone to pick with just about anyone. Gut Umbaran instinct told him it wasn't that, though. Something else had bothered the kid about that statement, but exactly what could never be discerned just by looking at him. The boy squashed whatever feelings almost rose out of him with the kind of efficiency that could only be honed if he had been doing it a while.

Good kid. Really.

Darth Janus flicked the credit away, allowing it to clatter into the bowl Veshi had originally put out in the hopes of generous donations. He couldn't recall the last time he had paid for anything in cash, much less dealt in half-credits. It almost felt dirty to deal with the money of peons such as this. Had Tyrin been meeting anyone else, he would have just throttled Veshi and been on his way. But now Tyrin had an obligation to make sure this sort of thing did not transpire again. That meant not throttling middle-men and desperate urchins.

"And what was your business with my Sullustan friend, that you would send her to spy on him?"

 

[Veshi]

[member="Darth Janus"]

"It wasn't personal." Veshi knew for a fact that cooperating completely was in his vested interest. If he found enough wiggle room to lie his way out of trouble, he'd do it as quick as thinking, but so far it looked like the truth was going to be his best bet. For a sinister-looking masked man in dark robes, the sentient of indiscernible origins seemed like a reasonable type of man. A man who understood that life was business, and that when there were less dead bodies everything seemed to run a little smoother. There were too many street hoods down here who didn't understand that. They were feckless, violent, and wore their wealth on their fingers and necks, and because of them A'Kaesh was crawling with Cor'scant Sec officers. Or, it had been. When the planet had fallen and the Republic had fled with their tails between their legs, Sec had dried up for a bit. But now they were back, and meaner to boot. "A man came round t'other day. Two of 'em, actually. One of 'em was human, sandy hair, about yea high..."

The young Kiffar gestured by holding his hand level at eye level.

"Beard. Dirty ... looked like he'd been in a fight. Pub groundpounder, probably. T'other was a Thakwaash. Didn't tell me much, but paid better than average." Veshi eyed the robed man, his brow furrowing seriously. He was in quite a pickle. "More than you just gave me, anyhow. This is going to be bad for business."

Not that you care. Too many thoughts swirled in Veshi's mind; a confusing maelstrom of ideas, emotions and contradictions. But a plan formed amongst the chaos ... escape this conversation, obtain credits, get the heck out of A'Kaesh ... and learn the name of the wind like the robed man obviously had. He would learn to cloak himself in air ... he was sure it would come naturally to him like everything else did.