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Three years was a long time to spend with people, and Robb felt that old itch creeping its way up his spine again. Wanderlust, the omnipresent need for something new, for change, the itch to keep moving as fast as the galaxy would let him, pulsated at the back of his mind. Robb always felt this way after a big score, a large stack of credits in his account usually paved the way for change, or good times at the very least. Good times were always better with good company however, and Robb was glad to be with the only three people in the galaxy who helped keep the itch at bay: his friends.
Robb hadn't been to Coruscant since shortly after it fell to the Sith all those years ago, and he had to admit he missed the place. Coruscant reminded him of home, the only real difference was that the people here still pretended the law held power. Robb knew the truth, the universal truth about planets like this. The deeper you dug into the durasteel and the dust, the clearer it became. Credits were king here, and Robb had a small fortune to his name tonight, they all did.
The party had landed deep in the Coruscanti undercity, level 1301 to be precise, and were aiming to misbehave with their recent earnings. The group approached the nightclub at a brisk pace, the sign above the door read 'The Red Giant' in huge blood-red neon letters. The pulsating bass boomed away from within, growing louder and louder as Robb approached. The spacer grinned like an idiot, reflexively tonguing the inside of his scarred cheek where that thug had nearly done him in on Balmorra. The memory brought back a flash of pain, causing Robb to flinch internally. Tonight wasn't about pain, quite the opposite in fact, and Robb would be damned if he wasn't getting laid tonight. Failing that, he'd get blind drunk trying.
The spacer withdrew a hand from his coat pocket and removed his cap from his head, gave his scalp a quick scratch, and stowed the hat and his hand firmly back into his pocket. The line outside the club arched its way around the far corner of the building, but Robb was sure his crew could avoid the line. They certainly had the means, one way or the other.
To think that she had finally reached her dream of getting to fly her own ship with people she called friends--or even family--three years ago was hard to wrap her mind around. Three years ago also marked their first real bit of smuggling work, and, oddly enough, that job happened to have been destined for this very planet: the center of the galaxy according to its history. Sadly, Coruscant was in as bad of shape as it had ever been, and it was almost depressing to behold while on their inbound route. The smog-ridden dusk appeared even dimmer than the pilot had ever remembered.
But down in the intermediate levels of the ecumenopolis, little had changed. Sure, things were better in the days of the Republic at peace, but the people of this underworld hardly had to alter their routines as the winds of time ebbed and flowed. Law and order down here was essentially whatever did not get one killed. Which meant that as long as you kept off the radar, it was unlikely anything too unfortunate would happen to you.
"The Red Giant," Corvetta whispered, glancing at her female crewmate for confirmation. Her reading skills had improved drastically in the past year, but there were still times she second-guessed herself. Sometimes letters switched places or shifted shapes in the middle of deciphering their meanings. It was why she had given up on reading the first time she tried to learn when she was much younger. And in an age with technological convenience, it was easy enough to fake literacy in most cases. But nothing worth doing is ever easy, they say.
Corvetta Salvo was no stranger to bars, and a nightclub would be manageable enough. What made this situation different than all the other times, however, was her attire. Twenty-four years was a long time for a sentimental gal to go without a boyfriend, and the itch was growing more and more irritating with each month passing. So maybe it was time to try something new. And that was why she was 'dressed up' for once--if skinny jeans and a peach jumper counted as classy. (To be fair, it was more fashionable than her usual cargoes and dirty blouse.) And her hair was styled to the best of her ability--which might not have been impressive, but she was indeed presentable. The point was that she was taking some sort of initiative now, even if she was absolutely clueless about the whole boy-girl thing.
Of course, any notions of culture one hapless individual might presume about Corvetta would be thrown out the window as soon as the pilot opened her mouth. "Frak," she cursed as Corvettas were wont to do. "That music sounds like a nerf scrubbin' a 'fresher."
She then took a look at the line of people waiting to enter the establishment. Hopefully no one heard her previous comment. "I mean, I bet it's popular."
From the moment he had left Coruscant some years ago, Davik knew that he would return. How could one not?.. It was the very hive of everything that his crew seemed to love, and it was his homeworld. The bustling streets of both upper and lower cities had been his lullaby in his earliest memories. The sounds of airspeeders and droning cargo barges were forever locked in his mind, and even now it startled him to have those memories unearthed once again. Sure, Nar Shaddaa had quite a similar atmosphere, but it never could quite reach the standards that the capital had wrought over hundreds of thousands of years amongst the stars.
Where had he been since? A vagabond of the stars amongst a crew of wanderers. They were successful, for the most part, and had more than their fair share of creds to spend on nights like this. Nights when it no longer mattered where they had to be next or when the next appointment was. Although he might remain rather quiet at the mention of such activities, Davik had always loved the ambience of the Cantinas and their ability to smite any feelings of self doubt or remorse.
They each had their own goals tonight, and Davik felt that it might only be right to make up a few of his own. He would, of course, try his hand at a few games of Pazaak. He had been studying a few techniques since he had last played, and he decided that it would be time to plaster any old fool who met him and his deck. It was not that he was arrogant, but he did know where he stood against some of the less experienced scumbags who usually played at the table for a few quick credits. He knew where Robb be, and the thought made him smile for an instant as his flight boots clicked alongside those of his companions. Surely he would get smashed and find a few good Twi'lek girls to spend the night with. And Corvy... Well it seemed strange... Had she attempted to dress up? At any rate, they were on their way to a night that they would not soon forget.
The line that greeted them was certainly not a welcome sight, though he knew they would find a way to bypass it. It must be quite a popular club, and the pounding of the bass within betrayed it as being a buzzing nightclub. Admittedly, it was not his favorite venue, but a few shots would have him over it just as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He had chosen to dress slightly off key as well, and he tugged slightly at the cuffs of a grey button up shirt to straighten it out. Whether he had done it out of the idleness of mind, or to impress any girls that might give him a chance, he felt that it was appropriate.
He flashed a grin at Corvetta as she mentioned the likeness of the music and nodded in agreement. It certainly was strange, whatever it was, perhaps some style that had become popular while they were gone... At any rate, he was excited to get into the thick of it.
It was always a joy when the crew got to take a day off like this. There was no shortage of down time when you lived on a star ship, but what constitutes down time up in space was typically more akin to meditative chores. Usually it involved making a sweep of the ship, begging the universe for something non-critical to up and break so you could keep busy for a few minutes. Luckily for her, their most recent job had been a sweeping success, leaving them all flush with more credits than she knew what to do with.
It was also nice to come back to Coruscant after such a long time away, especially since their last visit had been anything but pleasant for the young engineer. She still dreamed about it on occasion, countless ships filling the sky around her home world as fires burned over kilometers, clearly visible from space as the planet seemed to fall beneath them. Even though the fighting had eventually come to an end, one could still find the scars left both on the city planet, as well as its people.
Down here in the undercity, however, it was practically a whole different planet, one that the young engineer was infinitely more familiar with than the static, grey city up above. Going this deep into the bowels of Coruscant was very similar to being on a ship for Kohai, the natural light of Coruscant Prime giving way to countless sources of artificial luminescence. It was a technological marvel of unsurpassed scope, so complex and constant that during quiet moments, she could practically hear the life systems of the planet stirring around them. While it could be a bit overwhelming to a person more accustomed to the outdoors, the area her crew had entered very much reminded her of home, if a bit less industrial in nature.
"The Red Giant." Kohai perked up, snapping out of her reverie as her gaze shifting quickly to Corvetta. As she heard her pilot whisper the displayed name of the neon sign before them, a proud smile spread across her face. It had been about a year since she had sworn to teach her friend to read, and much like any project she undertook, failure had never even felt like a possibility. While it was clear that letters still gave her trouble from time to time, the dyslexic pilot had always maintained an impressive desire to learn, and had gotten the rudiments down with only the expected amount of difficulty. It was at least enough to avoid any embarrassment on the rare occasion, and that felt like a victory in her book.
Snapping her emerald gaze away from the pilot, Kohai brought her attention back to the entrance, her eyes following the queue of excited people as it stretched further and further away from their destination, eventually disappearing from view around the corner. "That doesn't feel like a good time..." Calloused hands beginning to shake, the engineer absently tugged at the ends of her lucky scarf, before pulling the hem of her plain black camisole over her belt and jeans, the black coloring almost hiding the grease stains. "...Unless you guys wanna wait?"
Robb surveyed the line again as the party neared the club, he was in no mood to wait out that beast. Wait? We don't have time for that!
Two bouncers flanked the entrance to The Red Giant: a Devaronian, and perhaps the burliest Rodian Robb had ever seen. The Devaronian stood off to the right of the entrance, facing the line. The man leaned over the simple rope barrier, while two women at the head of the line attempted to flirt their way in. And while it was obvious to Robb that the Devaronian had no intention of letting the pair passed, he appeared to have every intention of soaking up their praises. Meanwhile, the Rodian was far more interested in watching for trouble, and though his large eyes were featureless, Robb knew that those ebony spheres were trained on the approaching party. This ought to be good.
Robb glanced over his shoulder at his comrades and offered the slighted of smiles. "Nonsense, 'Peaches'. Why wait when the door's wide open?"
With that he dug around in his pocket until he found the necessary cash. Isolating two credit chits from the rest (which were valued at around 500-1000 credits apiece), he took each between his fingers. Ready to proceed, the spacer walked on.
The Rodian grunted at his distracted companion who, for his part, casually turned away from his false admirers and swaggered up to meet the party. The Devaronian stood directly in Robb's path and made a show of unfastening the clasp on his holster, before finally resting his hand on the grip of his blaster. The alien took a moment to survey the group as they closed the gap, grinning daggers when he saw that there were ladies present. "Club's full folks," the Devaronian offered with thick bravado. He was trying to make a show for Corvetta and Kohai, apparently.
Robb ignored the man and kept walking, sometimes the best way to accomplish something was to look like you knew what you were doing. At that point the bouncer realized his tactics weren't working and, visibly irritated with Robb in particular, proceeded to draw his weapon. "You deaf?" The main asked incredulously, "You can't -"
Robb withdrew his hand from his pocket as smoothly as he could and flicked one of the chits at the bouncer, who fumbled his blaster in an attempt to catch it. Robb shouldered his way passed the man and approached the Rodian. Amateur.
Moving forward, Robb kept his Sabaac face as best he could, all the while his heart pounded away in his ears. To Robb's shock the Rodian extended a toned arm in greeting and, taking the hint, the spacer accepted it. The pair shook on their transaction as money literally changed hands. Their business concluded, the bouncer released Robb's hand and glanced subtly down at the chit. Apparently satisfied with the tribute, the alien nodded and stood aside while indicating for the party to proceed inward , offering a simple "enjoy The Red Giant, folks." in gruff Rodese. Robb nodded to the bouncer and proceeded through the darkened entrance-way, but not before offering the frustrated women at the head of the line a wink. Once inside, Robb relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
The hallway that served as both a partial sound barrier and a foyer was surprisingly spacious for the relatively compact doorway. A few patrons hung about, conversing amongst themselves or checking their coats and belongings at one of the available kiosks. Robb walked across the room to a large set of stairs and descended down into the club proper. Dark rhythms pulsed louder and louder with each step, until finally peaking once he reached the bottom. The staircase opened up into the second level of a massive chamber, an old hangar to be precise. Robb eased his way through the small crowd on the balcony before him and leaned on the railing to better survey his surroundings.
The bouncer hadn't been kidding, the club was packed, and much of the ground floor was practically invisible beneath the veritable sea of people writhing, dancing, sitting, or otherwise carousing below. The main floor housed several card and Dejarik tables, sections of lounge seating, and one large dance floor in the middle of it all. Hanging above the dance floor was a raised dais, where the droids in charge of music and audio-visual effects worked tirelessly. To Robb's right appeared to be what had once been the hangar's entrance. The hangar doors were open, revealing a great window, offering a view of the neon dotted cityscape beyond. At the far side of the hangar stood the main bar, one large strip of counter running along the wall. Above the bar hung a huge neon visage of a blood-red sun, a red giant, the diameter of which ran the length of the wall. The homage was just bright enough to impress, but dim enough where staring wouldn't blind you, effectively bathing the entire club in a daring red hue. The ceiling above that was littered with more lighting and maintenance catwalks, to complete the ensemble. The second level balcony upon which Robb stood wrapped around roughly half of the room's perimeter, stopping several meters before the large window on Robb's right, and long before The Red Giant sign. The balcony had several stairways leading down to the main level, offering easy access. The hangar wall to Robb's left was dotted with windows, the spacer figured that the largest and highest of which must have been the VIP lounge, because several figures could be seen dancing within. Beneath these windows stood various doorways, presumably leading toward restrooms, elevators, private entrances, and emergency exits. The last thing Robb noticed was the army of bouncers and thugs keeping a watchful eye over everything.
Robb whistled appreciatively as he took it all in, but even that seemed to vanish within the myriad of sensations. The spacer was so lost in the scene that he hadn't even registered the stupid grin on his face. The Red Giant certainly lived up to its' reputation.
It really should have been no surprise. Robb seemed to have a solution for everything, though it most often involved a little muscle here and there. Still, Corvetta wondered if the dude came into these situations with a plan already hashed out or if he typically made up his game on the spot. Everyone had a little secret to their methods of operating, just as the Lost Cause's navigator had her own for threading the needle with customs. Whatever his thought process was, it usually worked, and the brunette loosed a wide grin as they made it through yet another harrowing engagement with customs. The pilot gave an unapologetic wink in imitation of her compatriot. It felt good to experience a little favor that their band of scruffy nerfherders was usually not afforded.
Corvetta was not unused to noisy environments. Working in the engine room was not always the most pleasant on the ears, especially in heavier freighters than the beloved Corellian model they owned. But this music--it was something else. She hoped no one asked her to dance to this beat, because it would be even harder to fake than it usually was for her. "How is this not rattling the whole city?" she shouted over the droning buzzes and heart-stopping bass pulses as the crew descended towards the main club room. Hopefully this was all worth it.
"Holy Sithspit..." the spacer gasped upon entering the main room. An old hangar converted into a nightclub? Someone had good taste. "This is my kinda place." Add a huge bar stretching from wall to wall, and Corvetta was in heaven. So long as someone made sure she was conscious by the time they walked out of the establishment.
Not comfortable with leaving her mates quite yet, Corvetta took to the balcony railing to survey the happenings before she was willing to make any moves. She could not help but feel outclassed in this setting, having traditionally been a patron at some of the most storied--albeit dusty--cantinas on dark-lit streets. Even the attire she had specially purchased for this very occasion seemed out of place. "Frak," she muttered, nervously brushing part of her bangs in front of her eyes like she noticed with some other girls. Then she tapped her comrade on the shoulder, hoping to get some verification. "Killer? Do I look pretty?"
Davik flashed a grin to the Rodian as he took a close stride behind the rest of the party. It had been a bit of a surprise to see Robb give up his creds so willingly, and at first it seemed like he would give them a beatdown for blocking the way to the bar. In the end, it was never good to fight the bouncers at the beginning of the night, that only made your stay a lot shorter than it had to be.
The doors to the club were large and accommodating, undoubtedly due to the vast amounts of different species that would be attending each night. Even before he entered, the music was slamming against his temples with a fanatical beat. It sounded as though a turbolaser was being fired right from the dance floor, and he was sure the hammering bass would tear the place apart before they even got to have any of the fun! A short peak over the railing towards the floor would reveal hundreds of convulsing bodies that were already too lost or drunk to care about who they were slamming up against or grinding on. How could people handle this much chaos!? He had seen his fair share of course, but it had never ceased to amaze him how loose people could get at these kinds of places.
He knew, however, that he would look a lot like most of the people on the floor by the end of the night. Alcohol had a way of doing that to him and most everyone in their little group, and it had earned them a mite of a reputation for causing damage to a cantina back on Ord Mantell. Hopefully it hadn't followed them...
He glanced to Corvy who had already taken a liking to the style of the main hall, and he had to say that he was rather entranced too. Even though one could tell the obvious changes that had been made, bits of the original hangar were still quite obvious in the ceiling and the overall shape of the hall. Davik also took note of the multiple game and card tables that had been set up in a more secluded spot in the club and he figured he would be making his way there in just a few moments.
"You know Robb, you aren't half bad at picking out these spots."
He glanced back at K, who seemed rather timid about the whole situation. It was odd, she was the more energetic of the lot. He gave her a nod before surveying the area once more.
"You know Robb, you aren't half bad at picking out these spots."
Robb threw his friend an appreciative smile before turning back out to face the crowd. I do my best.
Anticipation gripped Robb from head to toe as the stupid grin adorning his face spread into a full-fledged, albeit crooked smile, a lovely side effect of his facial disfigurement. A fresh track pounded through the hangar's generous acoustics, and the spacer found himself tapping his fingers against the railing to the beat, with his foot hot on their trail.
A tap on his shoulder shook Robb out of his awe-induced stupor, and the spacer swiveled his gaze to meet his friend's. Corvetta appeared as if she had something to say, prompting Robb to lean in slightly so as to better hear her amidst their cacophonous surroundings. "Killer? Do I look pretty?"
Wait, what?
Taken aback, Robb's eyes widened a fraction, and he offered his friend a quizzical look. A second passed, then two, before Robb finally blinked. Leaning his elbow on the railing he turned to face Corvetta, giving the girl a quick once-over. Robb hadn't really gone out of his way to dress up for the evening, opting to wear his usual attire (sans his more defensive accoutrements) instead. He'd felt fine walking into the club, honestly doubting that anyone would give his clothes a second glance once the booze started flowing. Still, Robb was well aware that his crew-mates had dressed up, and yet really hadn't thought anything of it up until now. Looking at Corvetta, Robb saw a side of his friend that he wasn't used to seeing: she was clean, socially conscious, apparently vulnerable, and (perhaps most unsettling of all) she looked like a girl. Robb peered deeper into her azure gaze, trying to decipher the best way to handle her unwarranted insecurities.These were waters Robb seldom tread, and he hoped to hell he didn't look as nervous (or as stupid) as he felt.
"You kidding, 'Corvy'?" he asked. "If we were strangers and I saw you here, I'd probably make a pass at you. . ." Corvetta's eyes were partially concealed behind her bangs, and Robb wondered why in the hell she'd want to hide behind them. Feeling the sudden impulse to brush them aside, he reached out, yet quickly reconsidered the action. Following through on the movement of his previous impulse, the spacer maneuvered to give his friend an amicable shove instead. Throwing her his most reassuring smile, he continued, ". . .Because, you're pretty."
Robb turned back to the crowd for a moment, and considered the various patrons without really focusing on anyone in particular. "There're plenty of people in here who'd love to dance with you, or buy you a drink at the very least. If that's what you're worried about." Robb glanced back at his friend and pointed to scar on his cheek. "Besides," he continued, smiling, "even if you weren't pretty, you'd still shine next to this mug," Robb offered with a chuckle.
It was one of those moments when you say something, and only an eyeblink later you realize just how poorly timed or phrased it was. Or maybe it would have sounded out-of-place anyway in this company. Initially, Corvetta's mouth stretched in an exaggerated appearance of embarrassment. But with Robb's response, the red on her cheeks betrayed only genuine sheepishness as she planted her back foot to brace against his playful push.
"Aw, you don't have to say that..." she muttered, offering a shove of her own. "Right back atcha, anyways."
Corvetta's attempts to set off on her own were foiled by her own feet, unwilling to split from her crew. She may have had silly things on her mind at this instant, but it was so hard to leave her 'zone' with her family. "Just gotta get crankin', right?" the girl chuckled, brushing her hair down nervously. Still, she felt like she needed a chaperone. Not because she was desperate, but because it would probably be a good idea to make sure their pilot could so much as walk out of here when all was said and done. With or without a guy at her side, someone could be counted on to make a sizeable donation to the bar tonight.
"Right," he said. "Let's get some drinks in us, maybe then we'll find ourselves some fun." Robb turned back to the club proper and peered across the dance floor to the bar along the far wall. Better avoid that mess for now, Robb thought. Not nearly drunk enough to handle dancing. He glanced over at his friends, "I'll be at the bar if any of you need me," he said. Robb stepped away from the railing and began making his way along the balcony, he'd follow it as close to the bar as he could before stepping down into the crowd below. He knew his friends would reconvene if the mood for drink struck them, tonight was their night as much as it was his, after all.
The balcony proved to be just as busy as the main floor appeared, only more spread out. Almost every seating area Robb passed on his way to the bar was stuffed with people of all shapes, sizes, colors, species, and apparent temperaments. Shady-looking businessmen, soldiers on leave, a group of obviously underage students, a bachelorette party, and even a party of Sith disciples to name a few. Robb picked up his pace as he passed the latter group, even if they seemed to be minding their own business. They appeared young, almost harmless as they reveled with the rest of the small crowd surrounding this section of couches. Young or not, Robb kept his distance as he passed, force-users just made him uneasy. Continuing on, Robb maneuvered his way through the crowd with increasing difficulty as he neared the end of the balcony and the stairway nearest the bar. The spacer weaved his way through the crush of patrons around him, almost having to push his way until, finally, he arrived at the top of the stairs. The small pocket of space provided a brief respite from the crowd, allowing Robb more freedom of movement, not to mention a chance to think. He proceeded at a more relaxed pace as he descended the steps and neared the bar.
The farther Robb got from his friends, the more the comfort of anonymity settled upon him. Robb would never admit it to their faces, but he loved his friends, and he wondered if they knew how just how much he'd come to rely on them over the years. He'd take a slug or bolt for each of them, no questions asked. But in (semi) private moments like these, where Robb could retreat into himself, he wondered if they could see through the facades he put on. Corvetta and Kohai still made him nervous one-on-one, sure, but all women did that on one level or another. Robb thought of the crew as family, siblings all, but he still counted himself fortunate to not be the only male aboard 'The 'Cause'. Thank the force for Davik. His discomforts aside, the little ragtag band of spacers were the only real constant in the years since he fled Nar Shaddaa. I wonder how-
Robb's thoughts were interrupted as someone shouldered their way passed him, knocking him momentarily off balance. Whoever it was slipped away into the crowd before Robb could catch a glimpse of them. What in the?Robb took a moment to quickly pat down his pockets and holsters, relieved to discover that everything was apparently accounted for. He shook his head and continued on toward the bar, far be it from him to over think getting bumped into in a place like this.
Three bodies lay scattered around the sewer passage in varying degrees of disrepair. Four-to-one were tough odds in a straight-up fight, for most people. Edsel wasn't most people, as the last of Bareesh's thugs was learning. The cyborg swatted the Zabrak's blade out of his hand, sending it clattering to the ground several meters away. Edsel ducked his opponent's desperate haymaker, slamming his shoulder into the young-man's rib-cage, driving him back into the tunnel's wall. The alien pounded on Edsel's back, trying to unpin himself. The cyborg answered with a few shots to his opponent's diaphragm, taking the fight out of him. The Zabrak wheezed pitifully as he slid down the wall, clutching his abdomen while desperately fighting to get his breath back. Edsel cracked his neck and loomed over the alien. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the cyborg waited for his fallen foe to try something. No attack came, the young man simply sat slumped against the wall, his coughs echoing loudly into the darkness beyond. Edsel grunted to himself. He's done.
Satisfied that the fight was over, the cyborg knelt down before his aggressor. Edsel took the youth's chin between his thumb and forefinger before pushing his head back, revealing his face and neck to him. Edsel glared into the youth's brown eyes, he couldn't have been more than eighteen. They just keep getting younger, don't they? Edsel reached into his coat with his free hand and removed his lightsaber from its holster beneath his armpit. The youth's eyes widened when he saw the weapon, he flinched and made to crawl away. Edsel grabbed the Zabrak's throat and squeezed out whatever fight remained in the boy. Edsel sucked on his teeth and clicked his tongue. "I wouldn't do that, Boy-o." he chided. "Move, and I might slip and nick you." he said, shaking the hilt of his lightsaber for emphasis. The boy got the hint, and slumped in Edsel's tensing grip. "Good lad." Edsel relaxed his grip a little, but kept his hand around the Zabrak's throat. "Got anything to say to me?" he asked. "How many more are comin'? How'd you know I'd be here? Who talked?"
"Kark you! I'm not a rat!" the Zabrak said. He spit in Edsel's face.
Cute. Edsel drove his fist into the youth's groin first, following up with two more to his gut.
The youth coughed and sputtered,"I don't know nothin'... urk -- I swear! Bareesh just said to take you out. We didn't ask no questions." he rasped.
CRACK -- Shattered teeth rolled through the tunnel like dice, ultimately lost beneath the din of the club above them. Edsel shook away the recoil in his knuckles."You wouldn't lie to me now, would you?" Edsel asked. The cyborg increased the pressure on the youth's neck while pressing his lightsaber against his chest, the beam emitter placed directly over the boy's heart.
The Zabrak spit, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. "No! Pleath! He thaid that you'dth headth for 1301, for the docking bayths! W- urk."
Edsel cut the youth off with another harsh squeeze of his neck, he'd heard enough. Not going to get anything good out-a' him."For what it's worth, I believe you..." he said. Edsel activated his lightsaber, the emerald blade piercing armor, flesh, bone, and the wall behind the boy with a low hum. "... but I can't let you live. Too dangerous." The Youth's eyes went wide in silent horror, and his mouth opened slightly, blood tricking from the fresh gaps in his teeth. He lurched once in Edsel's grasp before slumping forward, silent, dead.
Edsel switched off the blade and tucked it back in its holster. He released the boy, gently closing his eyes with the back of his hand.
The confrontation over, Edsel strode off down the tunnel towards one of 'The Red Giant's' secret entrances. The cyborg steeled himself, he could mourn the cost of survival later. He reached up and gripped his pendant, taking strength from it.Everything will make sense once I can collect my thoughts. I Just need to get off-world. Edsel stepped through the hatch and into the freight elevator, stopping to key the proper floor into the lift's console. The console chirped, and the old lift lurched upward, leaving the darkness behind.
It'd been hell getting here, Edsel'd had to bob and weave his way through the sector's less desirable alleys and causeways just to lose the karkers chasing him, even going so far as to ditch his ride several blocks back so as to sneak his way up to his destination on foot. Yet they'd still caught him in the damned tunnels. Karking bounty hunters, giving me the damn run-around on my own planet. Edsel gripped the railing tighter as the lift ground its way upward. He was worried, someone had given him up. And the list of people he knew he could trust was growing shorter by the hour, and even they were suspect at this point. Karking bastards'd probably turn me in for half a credit, let alone the number I've got on my head.
The console chimed as the lift reached its destination, and the hatch opened automatically. Karkers are greedier than an obese Hutt... Pulling his cloak closer to his frame to better obscure his features, Edsel took a quick glance about to see if the way was clear. His sweep came up empty, even with his scanners, but the night still felt wrong to him, everything did nowadays. The schematics his contacts had provided told him that this was a stockroom, though a cursory glance about could've told him that just as easily. Edsel stepped out of the lift and continued on his way. The rest of the trip was a simple one, he simply had to follow the noise through the kitchens and back hallways until he found the club proper. The hallway opened near the bar of the club's main level. Edsel wasted no time taking in the scene, he had more important things to do.
'The Red Giant,' a saucier joint there never was, not in Sector 1301 anyway. To the untrained eye, the club was exactly what it appeared to be, a rather upscale establishment in an especially dubious neighborhood. But to men like Edsel Zahno, it was the perfect place to lose a tail. He'd been here once or twice before, helping others find reliable means off-world. Now it was his turn.
Edsel slipped into the crowd and made his way towards the bar, formulating a plan in his head. Here's hoping Pyrene is working tonight, otherwise I'll have to talk to Haskit just to get upstairs-- Edsel pushed his way passed a patron who'd wandered directly into his path, practically knocking the lad on his ass. The cyborg continued on without missing a beat ... I still owe that slimy Bothan some credits... Edsel lost himself in his thoughts as he waded closer to the bar. The night was young and anything was possible. How in the hell do you plan for anything?
Kohai blinked as her crewmate casually strode up to the burly duo blocking their entrance, electing to keep her distance in case things proceeded t their most logical conclusion. Despite her claim from a second ago, the engineer really wouldn't have minded waiting in line. There was definitely a crowd forming nearby, and she could very clearly hear the music from out here. The young blonde had come here to dance, not to drink, and as far as she saw it, everything she was planning on doing in the club could be done just as well out here.
Regardless, she was here with her crew, the assorted band of misfits that shot across the stars in her beloved Lost Cause. Corvetta, Davik and Robb were the closest things she had for family in the whole galaxy, and families went out and did stuff like this. Together.
Kohai saw the ugly Devaronian rest a hand on his baster, pursing her lips in veiled disgust as he shot her and Corvetta a funny look. There was some testosterone business happening in front of her, and she wanted no part of it. It was then the the blaster left its holster, causing the girl young gear head to freeze as she resisted the urge to dive for cover. This was exactly what she had been expecting when she saw Robb swagger up liked her owned the place, and she had fumbled through enough firefights to know when it was time to duck.
Oh boy...
It was then that things began to defy her expectations. Instead of going for the gun, her crewmate simply tossed a couple of credit chits in the horned man's face, causing him to nearly drop his blaster in an attempt to snatch the airborne loot coming his way. As if nothing was wrong, he then proceeded to shake the accompanying Rodian's hand, taking a page from some of the holos Kohai had watched when she was a kid. Things had teetered on the edge of getting way too exciting, but they had salvaged the night before it ever managed to be lost. If the whole night went this smoothly, they'd have nothing but music, dancing and disgusting drinks to look forward to. Quickly falling into step at Robb's shoulder, Kohai gave the Rodian a pleasant nod as she made her way into the establishment.
The first thing she noticed, even before they entered the club's main area, was how much louder the music was inside. Her ears were assaulted by a heady mix of synthesized instruments and colorful vocals, all with an underlying pulse that vibrated deep in her chest. It made her want to dance, and the smiling engineer found herself bouncing more and more into each step as they made their way down the stairs into the club proper. Once she had the chance to feast her eyes on the impressive interior, however, she came to a complete stop as her wide, emerald eyes darted about the room.
I wonder what would happen if someone closed the big door...
Shaking off her curiosity for the moment, Kohai reminded herself that she was on a mission. It was her responsibility to find her way to that dance floor, get incredibly excited, and let her adrenaline spike in a way that could only be caused by deafeningly loud, culturally evocative tunes.
...and maybe watch a few hands of sabacc...
It was then that she vaguely realized that Davik was talking to her, turning her gaze up to him as she tilted her head in apparent confusion. "What was that?! I can't hear you!" She didn't necessarily have to shout, but the fact that she had totally missed his words somehow made it feel a bit more appropriate. She decided to use some context clues, mixed with what little bits of the message she had picked up. "Of course you don't need to go on a diet!" With a bright smile, she patted him on the shoulder. The secret of his weight insecurity was safe with her. That's what friends were for, after all!
He considered restating the question, but then simply nodded and gave a reassuring smile. It was not at all surprising that she hadn't properly heard him, the bass sounded like two star destroyers chest bumping... Into a microphone. He quickly took his gaze away from the rest of his crewmates and looked back towards the dancing lights of the dance floor. The mass of bodies seemed to be convulsing more violently now that the music had picked up yet another unique beat. He wondered how these people managed to do it all night, it must be very tiring to jump around all night on nothing but alcohol and whatever cheap food they served at the bar. He wouldn't have been surprised if they all slept on the floor during the day.
As Robb broke from the group, he took it as a sign that they were now free to their own devices. It was not as if they had to stick together, after all. With a nod to Kohai and Corvy he made his own way through the crowd and towards the Sabacc tables. Several of the booths were packed and crowded by multiple spectators who jostled and shifted to try and gain a view of the more important dealings. These more important players had placed extraordinary bets down that would have made the chancellor jealous. The items that had been placed up as tender ranged from private estates, starships, even a pack of Hyenaxes. He wanted no part that kind of gambling.
He made his way, instead, towards the more quiet tables that had only a few spectators. These players were only betting with their ill-gained credits as opposed to any sort of property. He sat down at one of the booths, and blinked as he was asked for an initial wager for the pot. He coughed and entered his bet. 250 Credits was good enough to start out with, though he was sure that the amount would steadily increase until he found himself quite embarrassingly broke. The music still pounded in his ears as the dealer passed around the sets of cards. The numbers that flashed onto his own cards gave no sense of confidence, but he knew it was only a matter of time before luck would come into sight. Either that or this would be a very quick night.
Well, considering how focused her eye had been on that bar, Corvetta saw no need to separate from Robb if he was heading that way. Not that she was going to pester him or distract him from whatever he was hoping to accomplish tonight. She had her own drinking agenda, and the stars knew the only thing that could stop her from getting hammered tonight was either a boy or her own mates keeping her away from the bar by force. She waved to Davik and Kohai as they settled on their own routes. If she was still sober after a half hour or so, she might try to find them on the dance floor.
"On your six, Killer." It was nice to have a much more imposing body plow a little channel through a crowd to walk within. Who knew how long it would have taken the pilot to arrive at her destination without a Robb to clear the way. Still, it was not easy to maneuver this crowd, and there was even a moment of when her crewmate stopped in his tracks and felt about his pockets, suspicious of a potential pickpocket. Everything seemed alright, but it triggered Corvetta's self-awareness. Suddenly the flygirl began to notice that she was on the receiving end of some odd looks from a handful of the nightclub's female patrons. She tracked their gazes and took a look at her pants, wondering if there was something wrong with her attire. Nervously, she swiped at her bangs again to make sure they were in the 'cool' position.
You could take the girl out of the spacer clothes, but you could never take the spacer out of the girl. Corvetta adjusted her gait, narrowing her strides to something that was hopefully more feminine. It felt awkward--perhaps not unnatural, but unusual all the same. These pants did not offer the freedom of her usual cargoes, besides.
Their journey to the bar was disrupted briefly by a particularly large figure. With all the lights strobing and shadows transforming in amoebic patterns, it was impossible for Corvetta to tell what he looked like before he was absorbed amidst the other silhouettes. The pilot reflexively pressed her hands against her pockets as Robb checked to see if any contents were missing from his own, and she looked around her friend's feet just to see if he had dropped anything.
Taking Robb's resumption of his walk as a good sign, she assumed everything was fine. As the duo arrived at the bar, Corvetta tapped her taller compatriot's shoulder again. "Hang tight or split, comrade?" Part of her wanted to find her own seat away from Robb, shy about attempting any flirtatious activity in front of her pals. But in reality, she hoped he would not mind her sitting close by. He knew the rules to the game, after all.
The bar was certainly crowded, all sections were packed to near-capacity by a myriad of different species. A microcosm of the club itself, Robb supposed. The spacer pushed his way through the throng to its' thinnest point which, strangely enough, appeared to be at its' center. But his curiosity as to the cause of this phenomenon was soon sated. Upon reaching the center of the crowd, Robb found himself standing at the top of yet another staircase. An old freight lift had been retrofitted with a stairway, leading down to a converted cargo bay-turned-bar. The room appeared dimly lit and obstructed by a red energy shield of some kind, with people coming and going at their leisure. This was new to Robb, the crowd apparently obscured many secrets in this place. Full of karking surprises, this place. . .
The first thing Robb noticed upon crossing the shield's threshold was the immediate change of volume. Both the booming bass and the bombastic din of the crowds vanished once he stepped into bar's lower level, replaced a dull ringing and faint ear-popping sensation in the vacuum. Robb swallowed hard as he examined his surroundings, eventually gaining control of his hearing. This area must have been designed with calmer heads in mind.
The lower level of the bar shared the same general motif as the rest of the club (heavy reds and dim lighting) and yet remained entirely different. The room was very much a bar, furnished entirely with decor that would have been right at home in some outer-rim cantina, were it not for their shear quality (which appeared considerable). The center of the room seated several parties at tables on bar-style stools. This sitting area was flanked on either side by several booths carved out into the walls, curiously adorned with red shields identical to the one guarding the room's entrance. Sound proof booths? With the far wall reserved entirely for the bar, Robb was relieved to see that it's many stools remained mostly unoccupied.
Robb arrived at the bar and was ready for a drink, to settle his nerves if nothing else. He made to flag down the bartender (a well groomed Bothan by the look of him) when he felt another tap on his shoulder.
"Hang tight or split, comrade?"
Robb smiled at his friend, happy to be to able to hear himself think again. "Don't want you to feel tied to my hip all night,' Corvy'." He said. Robb stole a cursory glance at the bar's patrons and allowed himself a chuckle. "But I'd feel safer with you watching my back in here, crowd looks a touch too shifty for a guy like me." Robb had to admit to being somewhat relieved to not be drinking alone (not that he was entirely opposed to the practice). Whether his crew-mate remained or ventured off on her own, Robb needed a drink. He turned back to the bartender as the man finished an exchange with another patron. The Bothan approached and leaned forward against the bar, apparently sizing the two humans up.
"Drinks?" the man grunted, in heavily accented basic.
"Corellian Blue for me, a double." Robb replied. "Please."
"Tab? Or on delivery?"
"Tab." Robb slid a credit chit across the counter.
The man nodded, snatching the chit up with practiced dexterity before turning to Corvetta. "And for the lady?" he asked, with an actual hint of enthusiasm. The Bothan leered across the counter at her, offering a faint glimpse of the pearly fangs within the most literal "wolfish grin" Robb had ever seen.
Robb rolled his eyes and pat his friend on the back. "First round's on me, pick your poison."
Jekell drummed his fingers against the table and leaned back in his seat. He rolled his head around, hoping to pop the damned kink in his neck that refused to abate, the added weight of his damned helmet did little to help his cause. Jekell detested wearing armor, yet he detested being recognized even more. Alas, anonymity was the cornerstone of wetwork, discomfort was a common cost of doing business. And Jekell simply knew too many people of the wrong people (or right, depending on your definition) on this damned planet to walk around without a disguise of some kind. Yet the necessity for the bucket on his head didn't mean the man had to enjoy wearing it. Jekell truly had no idea how Vell spent all his time in that damned suit of his, armor was just so karking confining.
Jekell stared at the glass of water sitting, ignored, before him on the table. Single-mindedly counting the ripples spreading across the water's surface as he tapped away at the table's edge. The beverage remained uninfluenced as sound, space, and the galaxy itself moved around him, the booth's sound-proof shielding saw to that. Countless pieces moving back and forth across the board, endless possibilities presented, missed, and utilized to nebulous effect. Only he was capable of disturbing the calm of his untouched beverage, he held all the cards here. He controlled the pieces, and that was just the way he liked it.
A chime within his helmet tore Jekell from his musings. He touched a finger to the side of his helmet and keyed the built in comm system. "Report."
"'Team B' is KIA." Vell said, his voice sounded especially metallic over the comm channel. "One by lightsaber. It was our man."
Jekell considered the possibilities, Edsel was full of surprises. Their target had been properly maneuvered into the right corner, and had led his pursuers to a secret entrance. A new variable, no matter.
"There is a service lift down here. Recently used by the looks of it. Watchers report that the target is moving into position. Requesting permission to pursue and engage."
Vell was an exceedingly valuable asset, but far too eager to throw himself at challenges. The Ubese had the scent of a jedi and was eager to pursue his quarry. Not yet, the club isn't a proper place for a showdown. "Denied, V. I have it covered, for now. Regroup with teams A and C at the rendezvous point and await further instructions." Jekell noted the slightest of pauses before Vell replied.
"Acknowledged. Returning to rendezvous."
The comm channel clicked off, leaving Jekell alone again. He continued to observe the movements of his beverage for several minutes until his helmet chimed again. "Report."
"Watcher Three, sir. Target approaching your position, over." the man said, in Huttese.
"Acknowledged, Three. Maintain your distance and keep eyes on."
"Roger. Out."
Jekell turned his head and watched as his quarry strode into the lower level, and straight up to Haskit no less. The pieces were lining up, and the trap was closing. The game was nearing its' close, and Bareesh was going to be a very happy man. Jekell ceased his tapping and reached for his drink for the first time since its' delivery. He gave the glass a gentle poke, his blue eyes glinting as he watched the subtle ministrations of the water.
Of all the rotten... Of course it would be Haskit. Edsel approached the lower bar as if it were a firing squad. Best prepare for that possibility anyway, Just in case. The surly Bothan saw him coming, cloak and all, the fur on his canid hands bristling as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Eddy Z. You slimy K'lor'slug, I don't suppose you have my money?"
Edsel threw the Bothan a flat stare before shaking his head. "I'm in no mood for games, Haskit. Give me a booth and a bottle of the usual. And keep the attitude to yourself, I'll pay you when I'm good and ready, just like last time."
Haskit glared across the bar at Edsel and shook his head. "You're lucky your friends take such good care of you. . . and me." The Bothan reached beneath the bar and produced a bottle of Kuati Brandy. "One of these days you're going to piss off the wrong folks, end up with a bolt in the back. And there I'll be empty handed and none too sad at your passing." He nodded at a booth passed Edsel. "Friend of yours reserved a booth, one of the movers your lot loves so much. He's been waiting for you. Maybe he'll cover your debt?" Haskit leaned across the counter and continued in a hushed tone. "Perhaps after you pay off that bounty of yours, eh?" he sneered.
Friend? Edsel peered over his shoulder at the booth, and was relieved to see a somewhat friendly face. It was occupied alright, by Sywar, a regular mover for The Movement. The karker was still in that damned suit of his though, just staring at his drink. Edsel snatched up the bottle and grunted a farewell to Haskit. He walked away from the bar and made his way towards the booth, eager to remove himself from the Bothan's stink. Sywar's good. Weird, but good. Perhaps things are looking up...
Edsel passed through the booth's shielding without issue, and eased himself between the cushioned seat and the table. The cyborg set his bottle down across from Sywar's glass. It was customary for the contact to speak first at this juntures, so Edsel waited. He gave Sywar a once-over, the man appeared leaner than he had at their last meeting, even beneath the thick layer of black durasteel. Edsel scanned Sywar with his synthetic eye, relying on the built in infrared mechanisms (among others) to survey the man's body temperature and heart-rate. But his scans came up empty. Strange.He shouldn't have had any trouble. That's some tech you've got there Sywar. Something didn't feel right, was this a set up? Sywar appeared calm and collected to Edsel's naked eye, he just sad their swirling his drink, staring right back at him through his visor.
Edsel took a long pull from his bottle and reached out through the force, probing for some insight into the man. Yet he felt nothing, Sywar felt empty, collected, cold. Business as usual, eh? The cyborg swallowed down a mouthful of the brandy and grimaced to himself. He wiped his mouth an tried again, reaching farther. He canvassed the area, but it was hard to isolate feelings of malice directed any which way, let alone directed at himself. The Red Giant was a busy place tonight and this type of thing was beyond Edsel's ability, he would have to do this the old fashioned way.
Edsel wiped his mouth and set the bottle back down on the table. Kark it. He broke protocol and the silence. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked. The question was rhetorical of course, the man was wearing a karking helmet, and kark him anyway. The cyborg reached into his jacket for a cigarra and his lighter, stopping briefly to unclasp his holster along the way. He withdrew the contents and placed the cigarra between his lips, letting it hang loosely as he spoke. "So I'm guessing you know the details by now. . ." he said, the words somewhat muffled by the cigarra between his lips. He paused to light it and inhaled, he held the smoke within him for a moment, savoring the flavor and the rush, before finally letting the smoke billow out from his nostrils. ". . . so you'll understand if I seem a bit edgy." Edsel hated talking to men in helmets, you couldn't read their faces. Prick. "I need to get off this rock, yesterday-like. I can pay you half upfront and half upon delivery, plus fifteen percent above the usual rate."
Edsel reached back into his jacked to store the lighter in it's compartment with the rest of his cigarras. He withdrew his hand, giving his blaster a little tug for easier access later on, if it came to that.
She had never been here before--and that was probably why she had not been denied entrance tonight. Give it a few nights, and she would probably be off to another establishment. Fortunately for her, there was an endless supply--not only in this district of Coruscant, or even Coruscant in its entirety, but in the entire galaxy. Unfortunately, that meant there were so many poor souls who had not heard the word.
The tattered book she held as she wandered around the bar area distinctly set her apart from the rest of the patrons, despite her otherwise contemporary attire. Her apparel and hygiene were in-tune with that of the dancing masses, and her weary eyes and mottled complexion cast her well among the drunks. Of course, one of the things that stood her out above all else was her unusual height for a woman. She got a lot of interest initially, but when she spoke, their ears were usually turned.
Having thus struck out at the bar, Malin made her way across the room to the game tables. She could tell by the card layouts which game--and perhaps even from which part of the galaxy--the players were dealing, though she knew nothing about how to actually play. It did not matter, however. What mattered was the desperation in the eyes of some of these men and women. Even more telling could be the sizable bets they were laying down. One table in particular seemed rather competitive, so she made that her first priority of the night.
A young human male with exceptionally dark hair took a seat at the table just before she arrived and quickly introduced himself to his gambling comrades with 250 credits. He was her obvious first target.
With her book planted against her hip, the blonde approached the new player's seat. The face should have been remarkably familiar to her, but she showed little recognition. Most of her prior life up until her spiritual redemption was a blur thanks to a rough interlude with the passing of Corellia as she knew it. There had not been a moment she was not either wasted or cooking up something in bed with a stranger. (Although being drunk and engaging in such activity mostly went hand-in-hand.)
"Hello," she greeted without pause. She was no longer the silent type. The paradigm shift in her demeanor would have been brain-wracking to anyone who knew her before Corellia was wiped. But no one knew her. "Please don't make that bet, sir."
The ready smile fell from the engineer's face as she watched her buddy head towards the sectioned off card tables, most likely off to win and lose a few small fortunes while the night was still young. Normally, Kohai would have been thrilled to watch him play, and chances were good that before too long she would find her way over there, but right now she had other priorities. There was a rapidly growing ball of nervous tension building in her gut that had to be exorcised, and the best way to do that was make a beeline for the throng of moving bodies making up the center of the room.
Out of all the comforts and vices made available in places such as this, the dance floor was the only one someone like Kohai could really sink her teeth into. She had always been the crew's resident teetotaler, with a highly evolved sweet tooth and a hair trigger liver that seemed to be made of tissue paper. She had the unfortunate tendency to get sick from alcohol long before she had a chance to get tipsy, more likely to find herself occupying a fresher than a bar stool. When it came to the gambling tables, she found that she just couldn't seem to hold the cards for very long without either bending or dropping them. Couple that with her knack for counting cards, and she found she was never all that interested in doing the playing, when she found it so much more satisfying just to watch.
Dancing, however, had always come naturally to the young woman, and an excited grin pulled at the corners of her lips as she wades carefully into the sea of undulating bodies. It didn't take her long to find a place for herself, her small frame serving her well as she nestled in between a seemingly happy couple and what appeared to be some kind of hairless Wookiee. With a deep breath and a sigh, the gear head let her bright green eyes flutter closed, allowing the music take her away as her body began to move.
Davik hardly looked away from his cards when he heard the greeting. He supposed that it was meant for some other passerby, an unnamed patron that would likely be on their own way to another table. While the planet was his homeworld he certainly had very few contacts that would frequent places like this, especially any that would seek him out and interrupt him while he was working on reaching Pure Sabacc.
"Please don't make that bet, sir."
Now that was definitely directed at him. The thing that still puzzled him was why this intrusive passerby would see the need to interject in his totally harmless fun. It was a feminine voice, and he could only hope that it was a waitress looking to poke fun at his liberal spending habits. He brought his head to the side to observe the source of the advice, and was disappointed that no beverage was being shoved his way. Instead, he got a full view of some darling that appeared to be more of a reader than a servant. With a puzzled look and the cards held down to remain hidden from the view of any cheating dreg that was seeking to earn some easy credits by using the girl as a distraction.
"And what's it to you, Goldilocks?"
The reply was brief and showed the slight bit of annoyance that she had managed to rouse from him. It was not often that he got to sit down at the table and relax with some of other delinquents that were all too content on spending their credits on the off chance that they may be able to bring some more of it back than they had started with. His fingers brought the cards back into his view and his head swiveled back to face the main game table. The Rodian across the way was giving him a wide eyed stare that would unsettle a bantha and he looked once more to the cards that would make his night.
