First Reply The Dashing Smuggler

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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In the bustling, neon-lit underbelly of the galaxy, nestled within the sprawling cityscape of Nar Shaddaa, lies a cantina that pulsates with life and intrigue. This cantina known simply as 'The Marcasite' has became a haven for smugglers, bounty hunters, and weary travelers seeking refuge from the chaotic streets outside. As one steps through the cantina's heavy entrance doors the air is thick with a heady mix of exotic spices and the acrid scent of blaster fire.

The dimly lit interior is a vibrant tapestry of species from across the known galaxy, their conversations blending into a symphony of alien tongues. The walls are adorned with haphazardly hung holoprojectors, casting a kaleidoscope of shifting images and advertisements, while flickering holo-lamps provide pockets of soft illumination.

The central hub of activity is a circular bar crafted from polished obsidian; the surface scarred with countless marks etched by patrons past. Behind it sits a formidable array of bottles and flasks line the shelves, each containing a potent concoction from every little corner of the galaxy. The bartender, a grizzled Duros named Garak, is a master mixologist, effortlessly maneuvering between the myriad ingredients to craft drinks that are as exotic as the patrons themselves.

Each table and booth within the cantina is occupied by a motley crew of thugs and enforcers. A group of Rodians huddle in one corner, their shimmering scales reflecting the ambient light as they trade secrets in their native tongue. Nearby, a bounty hunter sits alone, nursing a drink and brooding over a failed capture. The local band begins to play; bathed in soft lights on the stage and exotic dancers captivate the audience. Among this lively atmosphere; discreet transactions take place in shadowed corners, whispers of clandestine deals exchanged between parties with hidden agendas.

"Baagh, Fasera. You have won game after game, YOU ARE CHEATING!!" came the voice of a disgruntled trandoshan at the nearby Sabacc Table, staring daggers at the man across from the table.

"My friend!, I am nothing if not strictly honorable....Would I dare cheat my friends out of their hard earned credits?" a cheeky response from Fossilao, gently nursing back a sunrise beverage while holding the sabacc cards in the other hand. It was out of the question for him to cheat, him the most handsome smuggler that the galaxy has ever seen. The Nerve of this brute!

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Garak was so good that he was renowned throughout the galaxy, so much so that men, women, and gentlebeings like Malcoma Hesse who had refined tastes were willing to oblige them with the travel meant to do so. Mal made the journey to Nar Shaddaa at least five times a standard year, for the Hutt slave trade was alive and well here as always, but she didn't stop by the Marcasite every time. In fact, she visited infrequently, since she found it inappropriate to bar dive either before or after a successful slave trade. A cantina was no place to bring a former slave on their first outing without chains.

No, Mal only came here when a trade had fallen through, when a slave had slipped her freedom-bearing fingers. She was disappointed in herself each time, this one being no different, but one or two drinks from a certain duros could make it better.

She sat herself at the bar where it was less likely that she would be spoken to by anyone but Garak.

"Headmistress!" he greeted her as he dried out a glass. "Welcome, my friend. What can I get for you, hmm?"

"An old fashioned with Corellian whiskey," she answered.

He set the glass down on the drink mat in front of her and turned away to find the bottle in his colorful collection. "Hard day?"

Yes, but she didn't want to disclose it to the bartender, even if they had been alone. "Just challenging my taste."

The duros began laughing, but a commotion out in the bullpen interrupted him. Mal looked towards one of the card tables. "Pay it no mind," said Garak. "Gamblers are a rowdy lot." He took a boxy bottle almost full of an amber liquid, turned back to the mat, and began gathering the rest of the ingredients for her drink.

"Not in my club."

Garak flashed a smirk. "You have the luxury of mob association."

Mal turned back to him. "That must be it."

Fossilao Fasera

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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The sunrise beverage was slowly disappearing drop by drop, as brown luxurious eyes scanned the sabacc cards in hand in an attempt to figure out a strategy to win the whole betting lot. Credits were particularly pouring out of the table given the amount of money thrown in as the stakes got ever higher and higher, enough to walk out of here with a small fortune provided you did not piss off the rest of the players.

The handsome Fasera had no deep desire for credits but it was always nice to have spare pocket change for when the next designer suit popped up in one of Nar Shaddaa's second hand districts. A single glance towards the cards was all that was needed to confirm that victory would once again be his, having a commander worth 12 points and an ace worth 15.

"I believe this is hand set and match, Friends." The sly voice announce throwing down an Idiot's Array onto the table to the surprise of the other contestants. He had exchanged the commander and the ace into his sleeve through a slight of hand trick, wanting to use them for later down the line when sabacc was played again at the Cantina. Reaching out a jeweled hand to scoop up his earnings into a small pouch deep within white designer suit.

"IMPOSSIBLE!, YOU SCUM!" The trandoshan roared flipping the table as the cards went flying across the floor, leaving quite the colorful pattern if one might say so. Reaching out to withdraw a small hold-out pistol from his jacket. A shot was fired and then another, in rapid succession.

Fasera dropped underneath the fallen table in a swift move, making sure that the bullets do not singe his beautifully black and white locks. Crawling away from the table like a rabbit from a predator, underneath tables and other patrons towards the bar.

"Well..Well..What do I spy but a dove in this cantina." A flirt as a head was lifted up to see Malcoma Hesse sitting at the cantina counter next to the duros bartender named Garak.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"Here you are." Garak set the old fashioned on a small square napkin in front of Malcoma.

In thanks, because she rarely said it straight, she took a credit chit from her sleeve and handed it to him. "Keep a tab open for me."

As he walked away to do just that, the sabacc table sparked to life again. Mal ignored it this time, blasterfire and all, until she heard something that she assumed was directed at her. She turned upon the bar stool again, this time with drink in hand, and found Fossilao Fasera. Normally, the chance to step on a man's ego and/or heart would bring her as much pleasure and distraction as drinking, but, today, she actually just wanted to be left alone. Plus, he had been at that table and certainly was trouble. She did not want any of that.

"Alas, it has bird flu," she replied coolly. "You'd best stay away."

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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"Simply terrible...the dove has been inflicted with illness. But have no fear, my sweet for the medicine has arrived." Fasera said with a wink; dusting off the dirt and grim that had managed to stick to him during the crawl to escape from the mad trandoshan, who was still not in the mood for further games of sabacc from the looks of it. The Infamous Smuggler was used to being beaten up by ladies and their husbands when he made a move towards them, but who could blame him when the person in front of him was like an angel sent to rescue him from the terrible clutches of the other patrons, It almost made him shed a tear.

"Another drink would you, Garak." A simple hand motion was more than enough for the grizzled duros to understand, reaching up to the very bottom shelf to grab a bottle of the cheap stuff, despite the huge win at the sabacc table. Fasera was a regular at this cantina after all and half of the time squint broke. The sunrise was passed down the counter into the awaiting outstretched hand who gently pinched the handle, as a few credits were thrown to pay for such a beverage treat.

"My name is Fossilao Fasera, The Most Handsome Smuggler this Side of the Outer Rim. What might be yours, my sweetness." Another attempt to win the girl's heart and a big boost to his own ego trip as well, no one could dare refuse his charming looks and great personality. The girl might very well decide to punch him in the face for being overly aggressive, but that was well worth the risk.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Mal pressed her tongue to the ridge of her upper teeth. She didn't know if she was more annoyed with the stranger or herself. She should have met him with silence and a scowl.

When he approached the bar, she turned back to it and took a sip of her drink as he waited for his. As he spoke his self-given epithet, Mal couldn't help but smile behind the lip of the glass. He'd probably misconstrue the micro expression for the beginnings of a swoon, but she was only trying not to laugh. Wynter Rackham immediately came to mind as a silent challenge to Fasera's assertion. The Undoubtedly's captain was not quite a smuggler, nor maybe even currently on this side of the Outer Rim, though, so perhaps the silver fox was technically accurate.

With a sigh, she introduced herself. If he had heard her name, and knew what was good for him, he might leave. After all, even of the most hardened criminals, few wanted to feth around long enough to find out with a woman like—

"Malcoma Hesse. And I'm gravely serious. It's very infectious."

Fossilao Fasera

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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A soft served drink in one hand and a beautiful lady next to him....a dream...or a nightmare...depending on who was asking. A single glance towards the women's face for a reaction showed a faint hint of a smile which was immediately interpreted as the flirtation having worked expertly, since the Smuggler had no personal shame to hide behind, every woman was a goddess within the eyes of the silver fox and receiving their 'blessing' was more than enough to leave him feeling like a high horse when the medicine finally kicked in.

"Malcoma Hesse, a wonderful name that invokes power but also subtly." The smuggler proclaimed, looking through his brain registry of the criminal underworld for any information regarding a women named...Hesse...Hesse....ah the information sprung like a spring into his mind. She had quite the reputation within the criminal underworld for a variety of reasons and certainly was not a person to cross. Fasera's flirtation was going to get him into some deep water in a few moments but as they say, no risk, no rewards.

"You have quite the reputation in the Underworld so far as I can recall, yet I can't lay my eyes off of you. Perhaps a peck on the cheek?" An unoccupied hand was drawn towards one of the Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol located underneath his jacket, the Infamous Smuggler had more than enough experience as a gunslinger to handle any problem thrown his way. It was a subtle powerplay and deadly serious.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"Yours or mine?" she asked rhetorically before another sip of the strong, expensive stuff. Though she was not looking at him directly, she noticed his hand dive into his jacket from out of the corner of her eye. After quietly smacking her lips, she added, "Unlike you, I am not here to cause trouble.

"Please, Mr. Fasera, don't continue acting foolish."

Fossilao Fasera

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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"Interesting question, Miss Hesse. Although I suppose your skin is softer than my mine at the moment." A sly remark back to the rhetorical question, taking a small sip of the sunrise beverage within his hand while the other clutched around the handle of the Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol . The cool liquid flowed down his throat quenching the building thrust that was threatening to boil over. She then said something that made him almost double over from laughter, here on Nar Shaddaa everyone was either a thug or enforcer for the Hutt Cartel or one of the lesser gangs. They always caused trouble for the regular citizens on this foul moon and there was no exception.

"Mr Fasera? You have to say the whole thing for emphasis..Dear Lady. Say it with me....Fossilao Fasera the Most Handsome Smuggler This Side of the Outer Rim." A shock look came from the smuggler, eyebrows raised as Miss Hesse referred to him merely as a Mister. He was not just any mister, he was the most handsomely and most rich smuggler this side of the outer rim. Such insult did not deserve to go unpunished, so the hand clutching the blaster was let loose for a bit to lean onto the counter now.

Flashing a wicked smile, as the trandoshan from before approached them with a not to nice look on his scaled hide.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

At the moment? What did that mean? That he didn't moisturize? Strangely unbecoming if so.

She began to set her drink down on the napkin it had come with, but a very dim reflection of green stayed her hand, though just a moment. At it's end, she did put down the glass and pushed in just a bit away from her toward Garak's side of the bar. "Fine," she said in the typical more-than-annoyed tone that she tended to use with the common rabble. "Fossilao Fasera, the Most Handsome Smuggler This Side of the Outer Rim. Just duck left."

With that, she quickly slid off of the barstool and, in the same swift movement, took a knee beside it, grabbed the seat's spokes, and swung it at the trandoshan's legs.

Just like that, she had caused trouble.

Fossilao Fasera

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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At the moment could have been many things, had the Smuggler forgot to put on his signature cologne and apply lotion to his body. Or could it have been that he had simply worked up so much of a sweat at the sabacc table that the skin was rough and texturally. Who knows at this rate only the man currently conversing with the infamous Malcoma Hesse and there was no such desire to share a secret without first going on a date. The silver fox was about to congratulate her on the correct pronunciation of his introduction as that was vital to his overall character arc given to him by some cruel god.

"So you do find me handsome after all...lucky me." Having successfuly booby trapped her into saying such words, before ducking from the chair coming towards his direction only to find it slammed into the leg of the less than happy trandoshan who stumbled back after a bit. A glance towards the direction of the woman told him all he needed to know about "not causing trouble"

"BAAAGH!" The trandoshan yelled a war cry; swinging his clawed fist around to swipe at them both, clearly intending to pay them back for the humiliations that he had suffered from the both of them.

Fossilao leapt over the counter like the dashing rogue he was, only to find out his sunrise beverage had spilled all over the floor.

"Why is the Sunrise always gone..." A pout formed on his features and a small tear dropped down his face.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

After making the connection, she straightened, just to dive down again to avoid the trandoshan's fist. He kicked at her next, but she dove over his foot to the right.

Thought she didn't like to fight in high heels, she could definitely do it.

"It'll come back tomorrow morning," she shot back, getting up once more. "Try looking east at, say, six o'clock."

She knew that wasn't the type of sunrise he was talking about.

As she spoke, she fumbled a small black and gold tube out of her boot. She popped the lid off. It clattered to the floor and she twisted the lower cylinder; instead of lipstick, a silver spool rose up. With a flick of her wrist, the thin slicewire unraveled, lashing out and glinting dangerously in the the light.

"Are you going to help me out here or not?"

Fossilao Fasera

 

[Fossilao Fasera]

// LOCATION //: Marcasite Cantina |:| Nar Shaddaa
// OBJECTIVE //: Survive the Night
// EQUIPMENT //: Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol [2X] | Talon Vibrodagger | Arkanian Energy Shield
// THEME //: Yesterday's Jawa

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There was not a single thought behind the silver foxs' eye as the sunrise beverage sunk deeper and deeper into the floor before eventually evaporating. It was like his entire life had flashed before his eyes, with the sunrise representing himself. A washed up but still handsomely smuggler in an ever changing galaxy currently trying to survive a vicious attack from a trandoshan and currently fighting side by side with the Infamous Malcoma Hesse . Although this self doubt and depreciation quickly vanished as Miss Hesse was busy kicking lizard ass while brandishing a neat little weapon in one hand, and the joke finally landed after flying over his head for a minute or two.

"I can never refuse a request from a pretty lady.." This statement was proclaimed as the silver fox; reached into the coat pocket to withdraw one of the Custom S-195 Blaster Pistol with a simple spinning motion as the gun was locked and loaded for action. Taking a side aim gangster style at the trandoshan who threw a chair at the pair along with the patron sitting at it.

"Duck and Cover!" A shout came as the smuggler ducked behind the counter, wanting to avoid being slammed into by a dirty patron. Ruining his suit was not on the agenda, well not without going into bed with a pretty lady next to him.

Aiming the blaster from behind the counter to draw some pop shots which slammed into the scaled hide of the trandoshan who fell back incapacitated for now. Although this fire fight was not going to be unnoticed by the other patrons who simply began drawing their own weaponry in response.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

She dove to the floor yet again, this time flipping onto her back and striking her whip at the trandoshan's leg. The slice wire wrapped around his calf and she pulled, not hard enough to actively dig into his scales but to immobilize the limb.

As she kept the line taut with one hand, she took a small holo communicator out of her leather jacket and began taping on it with the other.

Chances were, Fasera would not appreciate the plan unfolding at Miss Hesse's fingertips.

With a roar, the trandoshan took a large step to the side, ripping the whip from Mal's grasp and sending it flying across the room.

"Chit!"

Fossilao Fasera