First Reply The Honeypot

[Sira Veyne]

Location: Nar Shadda

Sira killed the engine of her battered swoopbike, the frame rattling as it settled. She slid off the seat, boots hitting the duracrete with a soft scrape. Neon light from a broken sign buzzed overhead, flickering across the grime-slicked walls.

She kept her helmet on — no reason to let the local slicer rats get a scan of her face — and pulled a small handheld terminal from her jacket. Fingers, still smelling faintly of engine grease and ozone, tapped across the cracked screen.

A stolen connection to a pirate Holonet node blinked green. Good enough.

She keyed in the post — short, dirty, baiting — and fired it into the blackwave network. No cleanup. No encryption. She wanted it raw enough to attract the bottom-feeders, but clean enough to keep the smart ones curious.

[HOLO-NET NODE 9Z-FRAY] Encrypted Burst Active

LOOKIN' 4 BURN
need real sticks — NO gutter slop
creds live. move fast, no noise.
1st drop's a test. frag it = gone.

msg: Velora // blackwave 9Z
bring heat? get burned.

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

The cantina was loud — too loud — but the drink was cold and the air was thick enough with smoke to feel like home. Seth nursed the glass between his fingers, slouched back in the booth, jacket tossed lazy over the seat beside him. No uniform. No robes. Just the man he was before all that.

The old datapad in his pocket buzzed.

He almost didn’t check it. Muscle memory won out.

[BLACKWAVE 9Z]
LOOKIN' 4 BURN...

Seth exhaled slow through his nose, a small grin curling the edge of his lip. Just like old times.

It didn’t take long to key the message in.

Hey Slisko. Since you always found me jobs, I got something for you.
I’ll play muscle if you need it. This one’s free — just for the nostalgia.

The Rodian’s reply came back quick. Slime never sleeps.

An hour later, they were both at the drop — Seth leaning against a pylon, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. Slisko buzzing nervously beside him, sniffing the air like a rat waiting for the trap to spring.

Seth just smiled. Curious which version of himself would walk away from this one.​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira Veyne:

The swoopbike snarled low as Sira coasted into the alley, engine coughing against the damp night air. She cut the throttle with a flick of her wrist, the machine rumbling into silence as she swung her leg off in one smooth motion. She felt three was a crowd-but still insisted on radiating an aura of confidence. Playing it safe by letting them do the opening felt like a gutteral instinct to her, however.

Boots hit ferrocrete. She let the swoop idle behind her, heat rising off the engine.
Helmet stayed on. One hand brushed the poncho aside, just enough to show the heavy shape of a empty blaster holster at her hip. The real thing was resting in a more discreet place-tucked under a second more concealed holster under her armpit.

No rush. No words.

She tilted her head slightly, visor catching the neon glare, and stood there — waiting.

Seth Denko

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

Slisko was already halfway to her before Seth even moved.

The Rodian sidled up, tapping a code into the scuffed lockbox hanging off his belt. The seal hissed open, rows of slim white vials tucked neat inside.

“Grade-A burn, sweetheart. Cut clean, rides smooth. None of that trash they sling out the gutters.”

Seth didn’t speak. Just stayed leaned back against the pylon, arms crossed, eyes locked on the empty holster at her hip.

When she didn’t flinch, didn’t reach, he gave the smallest nod — a quiet mark of respect.

Watching. Waiting. Measuring.​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

The helmet came off slow, deliberate — every movement dripping with lazy confidence.

Her hair tumbled free, wild and sharp against the neon grime, blonde streaks like fading scars.

She dragged a thumb across her lower lip, smirking just enough to dare a fool to make the first move — the visage more beffiting an arena duelist. She clipped the helmet to her belt, slowly strutting out to meet the Rodian halfway to her bike and glanced down to the goods on display, then turned the glint of her eyes to the 'muscle' in the back.

"This the good burn, huh? Looks more like street piss to me."

She took a second respite, thinking back on the countless seminars on boisterous bravado she undertook at the Academy.

"Tell you what—" her voice dipped, casual and sharp, "—I’ll take it for a spin. Me and your boy here."
She jerked her chin toward the muscle, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Three's a crowd anyway."
A slow step forward, boots scraping the ferrocrete.

"You sit tight. He shows me it hits right, you get your creds through yout guard. If not... well..."
A sly grin, no promises behind it.

"You’ll know."

Seth Denko

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

A soft exhale escaped Seth, quiet amusement threading through his expression.

He unfolded his arms slowly, letting them fall to his sides. His gaze didn’t waver—still fixed, steady, unyielding.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he replied evenly, voice a smooth ripple of tempered steel. “But I’m paid to keep the boss breathing, not tasting.”

He shifted his weight subtly, inclining his head toward the Rodian, the slightest tilt of a sardonic smile curving his lips.

“That’s what Slisko’s for. Can't exactly keep watch if the walls start melting, can I?”

The Rodian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a brief flicker of annoyance crossing his face before it quickly gave way to a crooked grin. He snapped the lockbox closed, tucking it securely at his belt.

“Fine, fine—since muscle boy’s shy, guess it’s you and me, sweetheart,” Slisko drawled, turning back toward her, confidence edging into his stance as he gestured expansively. “Let’s see if you’re tough enough to ride this burn. He can tag along, keep us honest.”

Seth gave another faint nod, stepping forward from the pylon, a shadow looming quietly behind.​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira shot a look at the deathsticks as they disappeared back into safekeeping, then at the stiff-backed bodyguard.
She pulled her helmet on with a sharp jerk, visor flashing under the alley lights.
"Must be real premium stuff," she said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Guard won't even smoke it for free. Either way, I ain't lighting up in an alley."

Without waiting for a reply, she swung onto her swoopbike, the engine rumbling low and hungry.
She slapped the back of the seat once, a sharp, lazy tap.
"Hop on if you'd like. You can show me to go." she said to neither of them in particular, tilting her head slightly.
"Assumin’ you got somewhere real to take me."
Her voice lingered just a little, daring them to admit if they didn’t.

Seth Denko

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

The Rodian let out a low, grumbling sigh — the sound of a man weighing pride against the promise of a paycheck.

“Frackin’ hell,” he muttered, climbing on behind her with all the enthusiasm of a man biting down on glass. One hand found the back rail, the other gesturing forward, sharp and impatient.

“Vermillion House,” he spat the name like a dare, flashing a grin full of bad teeth. “Upscale dive, south tier. You’ll know it when you see it — smells like desperation and too much perfume.”

Seth’s boots tapped soft against the duracrete as he began heading for the craft that brought them in.

“I’ll be your shadow,” he called over, voice even. Eyes on the Rodian. “Slisko—don’t do anything dumb.”

His gaze slid to her, a touch softer, but steady.

“Same goes for you, customer.”​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

The swoopbike rumbled alive beneath her, coughing smoke into the heavy air.
Sira snapped her helmet into place, kicked off hard, and tore down the maintenance arteries coiling under Nar Shaddaa’s rotting towers.

The low thrum of broken conduits and steam leaks filled the tunnels, casting everything in a haze of grime and flickering light.

Sira weaved through the choking underways, glancing once at the battered speeder tailing them — the bodyguard keeping just close enough to matter.
She smirked behind her visor, but the thought nagged:
Maybe he ain’t just muscle after all.

"I ain't just buyin’ scraps," she shouted back, voice low and easy through the helmet’s modulator. "I wanna meet the brains behind it — the real plug. Maybe get myself a seat at the table."
She took a moment to gauge his body language, increasing the speed as if to add momentum to her words but issued out a preemptive thought.
"Relax, choob. When this deal blows up right, there’s a seat for you too."
Sharp turn, rusted piping blurring past.
"Whole new setup — you get your cut, I get mine. We both eat."

The swoop tore out of the underways, following any instruction the Rodian would give.

Seth Denko

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

The Rodian barked out a raspy, gutter-born laugh — sharp enough to cut through the roar of the tunnels.

“Seat at the table,” he wheezed, shaking his head, grin splitting wide. “Girl, please. You think the real plug’s just out here handin’ out silver spoons? Ain’t nobody on ‘Shaddaa eatin’ good ‘less they bled for the plate.”

He jutted a thumb toward the smear of city lights bleeding through the end of the artery.

“Everybody gotta get it out the mud. Bleed, scrap, crawl your way up. That’s the only buy-in here.”

Seth followed close, helm down, visor blank. Silent.

The words echoed harder than he’d admit — louder than the engine noise, louder than the city groan. Maybe the Rodian was right. Maybe this place wanted you starving, fighting for scraps just to keep your teeth sharp.

And maybe that’s why it felt familiar.

His grip tightened at the throttle, jaw working beneath the mask. All the while, he thought to himself:

Is this the life I’m choosing? Or just the punishment I think I deserve?​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Sira laughed under her breath, the sound buzzing low through the helmet’s modulator.

"Relax, choob," she tossed back, easy as anything, swoopbike slicing a lazy curve between sagging pipework.
"Ain’t askin' for no silver spoon yet."

She shifted her weight around, arching her back slightly into the Rodian, enveloped in the fluttering fabric.

"We see how your goods taste first."
Another flick of the throttle, the bike snarling through the city's broken guts.
"If they’re as pretty as you talk ‘em up..."
She shrugged one armored shoulder.
"...then maybe you walk me to your boss. Real polite, real friendly-like. Plenty enough for both of us."

The city’s underbelly opened ahead in a mess of leaking steam and broken promises, and Sira grinned sharp behind her visor.

Plenty of time to reel the big fish in.

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

The ride cut quick through the tunnels, the city peeling open into a basin of broken concrete and buzzing neon. At the center, lit up like a bad promise, sat Vermillion House — red lights dripping down its sagging walls, music shaking the ground underfoot.

Sira’s bike coasted toward the checkpoint first, Seth trailing easy behind in the battered repulsorcraft. Two guards stepped out, hands low on their belts.

The lead one barked, “Don’t know you.”

The Rodian didn’t blink. He leaned back, scarred face catching the floodlights. Recognition flared — a grunt, a nod — and the gate scraped open without another word.

Seth kept one hand loose near his belt as they rolled through, boots finally hitting pavement just shy of the side entrance. The Rodian thumbed a call into his comm, voice low:

“First floor. Sample room. Now.”

No questions. Just the crackle of a line cutting off. He jerked his chin towards the gilded front doors.

“Come on, pretty thing. Let’s see if you’re worth the trouble.”

Seth followed, silent as the grave. And once they stepped into the Vermillion House, his nostrils were assaulted by the smell. All manner of spice hung in the air, mingled with a myriad of perfumes and colognes. This is where money was spent and sins were committed.

Lucky for Seth, he was on the clock.​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

Suri's pace stayed even, one measured step behind. She didn't make a big deal of dismounting the bike like last time, taking a break of the bravado. It was tiring after all, to dance this close to the fire. One must pace themselves. Her eyes skimmed along the edges, opting not to give the guard duo the time of the day and using the opportunity to scout out the worth of the Rodian. She noted where the walls might’ve once been repaired, or maybe just painted over something that needed forgetting.

"Bit of a maze in here." she murmured, half to herself, half to break the silence. She felt herself getting close to something and it made her nervous.

She didn’t try to memorize every turn like she usually did—they likely weren’t coming out the same way. But her gaze snagged on the flicker of what might be an old security node tucked into a light fixture, the sound of laughter just a hair too rehearsed slipping past a curtain behind them, and a door left just slightly ajar with nothing but red haze beyond. A lounge? Storage? Hard to say.

Her fingers brushed the hem of her sleeve, where the bug nestled quiet. It wasn’t time yet. Still... she flexed the thought like a muscle.

"Your friend always this talkative?" she added casually, glancing sidelong at Seth. Her tone walked the line between teasing and testing, curious without cracking her cover.

She kept walking. She wasn’t sure if the place was meant to feel like a den or if that was just the spice clinging to her senses. Either way, she didn’t trust the walls.

Seth Denko

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

The Rodian led with the casual swagger of someone who belonged, even if the building itself seemed to disagree. Gilded walls flanked either side, polished to a shine that couldn’t quite distract from the age beneath the gloss. The air was heavy—perfume, smoke, spice. Not thick enough to choke, but dense enough to linger in the lungs like a memory you’d regret later.

Seth kept close behind, hands still free but posture sharp. Eyes tracked every shadow, every subtle flicker of movement behind the silks and screens that divided the rooms like stage curtains. Someone laughed behind one—too bright, too staged—and the sound stuck.

They made two turns, then stopped short at a heavy black door rimmed in gold trim. Standing beside it was a refurbished BX-Commando Droid, the matte steel of its frame polished like it was dressed for company. The thing shifted as they approached, gears humming faint under the low thrum of bass bleeding through the walls.

A quick scan flickered from its eyes — red light strobed across the Rodian’s face.

“IDENTITY CONFIRMED.”

The droid stepped aside with a mechanical hiss, and the door unlocked with a luxurious click.

Inside:
A round table sat under a soft overhead glow, draped in pristine white cloth like this was a high-stakes dinner party. At its center, a silver, multi-tiered platter spun slowly, glinting with indulgence. Spice in crystal vials, crushed death sticks packed like cigarras, glitterstim twined in dark glass coils, and stranger things—small red pills marked only with sigils, fine powders catching the light like crushed starlight. None of it labeled. All of it deadly.

The Rodian slinked into the nearest seat, exhaling like he’d just gotten home from a long day.

He jerked a thumb lazily toward the rotating sampler.
“Pick your poison. Just don’t die ugly.”

Seth remained standing, a quiet wall of armor and observation behind him.

“Your friend always this talkative?” Sira had asked.

The Rodian barked a laugh, reaching for a glass of something pale and fizzing. “Usually can’t get him to shut up,” he said, flashing a grin full of half-missing teeth.

Behind him, Seth rolled his eyes—a rare flicker of dry amusement cracking through the otherwise blank exterior.

Didn’t deny it. Didn’t need to.​

Sira Veyne​

 

[Sira Veyne]

The haze hit her first—sweet, sharp, cloying. Smoke and spice hung low in the air, sinking into her throat. She didn't cough. She didn't blink. She just smiled, slow and thin, like someone forcing a polite nod at a family gathering she hadn't meant to attend. They temper you to worse stuff at the academy.

Her eyes swept the room—first the droid. "Where in the spiral'd you dig that thing up?" she muttered, eyeing the BX model like it might suddenly decide to reenact the Clone Wars. "Looks like someone chromed up a corpse. Sure feels like one...."


She let her gloves tug loose as she walked toward the table, fingers grazing the sampler tray with idle interest. She picked up a glitterstim vial, held it to the light. Rolled it between her fingers. The shine danced across her eyes, but she didn't linger.


"Fancy spread. But you know how it is—too much sugar spoils the tongue." She pocketed a slim, nondescript cylinder. "Might keep this. For... research. Never know when the night calls for bad decisions."

Then she turned to the Rodian, eyeing the belt with the kind of look that made it clear she wasn't here for party favors. "We came for your batch. The real stuff. Let's see if it's worth the smoke and mirrors."

Her tone cooled just a little—not cold, but pointed. "And while we're at it—who's actually running this little holodrama? I like knowing whose curtain I'm stepping behind."




She glanced toward Seth, still stationed like a sentry behind the Rodian. Her eyes lingered just a beat too long on his posture—broad, unreadable, but not humorless. "Your friend always this still, or is he just hoping I'll pat him down?"-she mused out. She was running out of jabs for this guy. His stoicism was growing grating to her.

Seth Denko​

 

[Seth Denko]

NAR SHADDAA

Seth spoke at last, his voice low and steady—cutting through the haze like a vibroblade through silk.

“Confed had a holdout on 'Hutta for twenty years. Droid found its way here after the collapse. Around these parts, relics like that go for a credit a dozen.”

He didn’t move from his post, but one brow ticked upward—sharply—when Sira slipped the vial into her coat. Not quite disapproval. But not nothing.

The Rodian caught the glance, grinning as he slid the spinning platter a few inches closer to her with an open palm. “Help yourself, sweetheart. Consider it the entrée sampler. Appetizers are good for biz.”

Then came her ask—the real reason they were here.

Without fanfare, the Rodian reached for his belt and pulled out the thin, brushed-silver case. He popped it open one-handed and extracted a single deathstick, longer than regulation, colored jet-black at the tip like some kind of burn mark.

“What you see here,” he gestured back toward the platter, “is last season’s greatest hits. Crowd favorites. Bangers and ballads.” He held up the deathstick between two fingers, delicate as a conductor about to cue an orchestra. “But this?” His grin widened. “This is the season opener.”

Seth huffed a dry chuckle, just under his breath. Only a Rodian could pitch spice like it was a podrace event.

But Sira’s next question didn’t land so clean. The Rodian’s posture shifted—relaxed, but with a layer of new caution. He held up his free hand, palm out like he was directing traffic.

“Easy there, princess. You want curtain calls and cast lists, you’re gonna have to drop some credits first. Until that happens?” He tapped his chest. “I’m all the contact you’re gettin’. Doesn’t do to have some rando walk off the street, start askin’ who’s who like this is open mic night at the House.”

Then came the jab.

Seth rolled his eyes again. A touch more obvious this time. The Rodian didn’t even blink, raising his glass as if in toast. “I ain’t payin’ him to be chatty. I’m payin’ him to make sure you don’t rob me blind or gut me with a smile. Capiche?”

Seth didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His silence was fluent.​

Sira Veyne​