Private Trouble on Lothal

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse doesn't fear death. She's just waiting for Death to make a better offer.​

Kinley Pryse didn't like being this close to Imperial territory. It made her feel… itchy. Not the kind of itch you scratched with a quick shift of your jacket or a tug at your collar, this one crawled under the skin and settled somewhere behind the ribs. The Empire had a way of doing that. Too many checkpoints, too many gray uniforms, too many officers with nothing better to do than ruin someone's day for sport.

Lothal was crawling with them.

Every landing platform had a squad of stormtroopers pretending they weren't bored. Every street had surveillance poles blinking red like watchful eyes. Even the air felt different, sterile, controlled, like the whole planet had been scrubbed clean and labeled property of the Empire.

Kinley hated it.

Unfortunately, her boss didn't care.

Flint had sent her here with a job, a vague briefing, and the promise that a crew would be provided. Flint's promises were always delivered with that same irritating confidence, like the galaxy itself would bend over backwards to make sure his plans worked out. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it very much didn't.

Kinley had learned the hard way that when Flint said don't worry about it, I've got people, it usually meant she'd be working with smugglers who couldn't shoot straight, mercenaries who drank more than they fought, or slicers who panicked the second an Imperial firewall sneezed in their direction.

Which was why she was sitting in this cantina.

The place wasn't terrible, as far as Imperial worlds went. Dim lighting. Sticky tables. A band in the corner doing their best to murder a popular Core Worlds tune. The air smelled like cheap ale, fried nuna, and the faint ozone scent of overheated blasters that had seen one too many arguments.

Kinley leaned back in her chair, boots propped casually on the rung of the opposite stool, toothpick rolling lazily from one side of her mouth to the other. Her hat rested low over her eyes, but that didn't mean she wasn't watching everything.

Because she always was.

The door slid open every few minutes with a mechanical hiss, letting in another wave of patrons like dockworkers, traders, the occasional Imperial officer trying to pretend he wasn't slumming it for information. Each time it opened, Kinley glanced up just enough to take stock.

Too clean.
Too nervous.
Too drunk.
Definitely a snitch.

So far, Flint's promised "crew" looked suspiciously like nobody.

She checked the chrono on the wall again and clicked her tongue softly.

"Fantastic," she muttered around the toothpick. "Flint sends me to the most Imperial-infested rock this side of Coruscant and my crew's already late. Real professional operation we're running."

A serving droid clanked past and she lifted two fingers lazily. The droid beeped and sat down another of the mocktails she had been sipping. It looked like something strong enough to make her forget she was on Lothal but it had no alcohol content. It was a prop like most of the things in her life, because the swagger was the only thing that kept her alive at times.

Another hiss from the door.

Kinley's eyes flicked up again, sharp and quick despite her relaxed posture. Maybe this time it would be someone useful.

Or maybe, as usual, Flint had scraped the bottom of the galactic barrel and sent her whatever fell out.

Either way, she figured she'd know in about five seconds.



Jett Vox

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Jett Vox]

Old Jho's Cantina - Location: Lothal​

Pebbles crunched under her boots, beskar gleaming dully in the temperate sunlight, beating down on the lone woman in her Mandalorian armor, weapons clacking against her armor as she strolled - yes... strolled - through the paved and unpaved streets of Lothal. Her destination in mind was the lone Cantina on the once thriving Republic hub, now as empty as it had been ages ago. It was a comforting place to be for a backwater girl like Jett. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her expressionless helmet, but this was only the second populated planet she had been to. She was different from most Mandalorians in one aspect though. She had no qualms looking around like a tourist, her helmet shifting left and right, taking in the sights as if she'd never seen architecture like Lothal's before. Truth was... she hadn't. This was all completely new to her.

The Mandalorian didn't seem fearful of anyone, nor wary of any of the Imperial troopers on the street, nor even very interested in them at all. Imperials were just one of many governments that came and went, ebbed and flowed. Jett had learned that much since coming to be in the Galaxy as a whole. The Imperials barely registered her as well. A semi-short Mandalorian wasn't that unusal around here, and they let her pass even armed as she was. Her Imperial-style rifle probably made her seem even less threatening. Mandos who worked with the Empire (something she'd never done) were an asset they wouldn't likely bother.

Lothal as a whole hadn't changed much as a frontier planet, and even moreso Old Jho's hadn't changed it's name in almost nine-hundred years after the original owner had died. If a time traveler had lept eight-hundred years into the future, they would have been able to find their way around it without trouble, and if they were familiar with Old Jho's, they might even be able to do it blindfolded.

Jett paused before she entered the common area. The bar consisted of a dock, a holoprojector for viewing popular programs approved by the Empire, and a bar with an open-air ceiling, which she approached slowly. Her hand dropped to her hip where a heavy DL-44 Heavy Blaster set. She wasn't expecting trouble, it was just a very large blaster and it felt natural for her gauntlet to rest on the pistol grip of the large weapon.

Her left hand produced a credit from somewhere, it was hard to tell which of the many pouches she kept her credits, and moreso, which one she had pulled the single coin from.

<bzzt> "Ice-cold fizzy, please." <bzzt> she said through the voice emitter in her helmet. She had learned she enjoyed the fizzy drink in the short time she'd been on Lothal. This was her second since being on Lothal. The Ithorian bartender turned about and raised his arms, laughing in it's strange alien way. A series of odd sounds came from it's hammer-head, and a translator-buzzing voice resonated.

"Jett! You're back already? So good to see you again! Yes, yes right away." The creature walking off to begin making her drink. Jett eagerly watched him walk off and then turned about, deciding to check out her surroundings. She wasn't exactly as spatially aware as most of her people, but that might come off as confident. Or even overconfident.

Little did she know, she was facing the most one of the most notorious characters in all the Galaxy. Heck, she might have even guessed if she hadn't closed her eyes completely as she settled back against the edge of the bar. To anyone who observed her directly, it might have even looked like she was staring at the dangerous woman. Saying nothing. Just staring. Her Mandalorian visor gleamed black, like all armor like hers, intimidating by nature.

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse will promise you heaven, then put you through hell​

Kinley Pryse's patience had been grinding to dust for the last forty minutes. Flint had promised a crew but what she had instead was warm Lothal air, a lukewarm drink, and an aggressively empty doorway. Kinley tipped her chair back on two legs, boots propped on the cantina table like she owned the deed. One finger drummed against the rim of her glass. The other rested near her holster, not tense, just familiar. Like a hand on a lover's waist.

She scanned the room again. Dockworkers. Farmhands. A pair of Imperial uniforms trying very hard to look like they weren't losing money at sabacc. And then...Beskar. Kinley's chair legs thumped back to the floor. A Mandalorian strolled in and Kinley wondered if this was her lucky day.

Kinley rose, snagged her glass, and drifted closer with the lazy confidence of someone who had survived too many bad decisions to fear new ones. Boots stopped just inside the Mandalorian's peripheral. She took a sip. Let the silence stretch. Measured the armor. The stance. The weight distribution, and the way the helmet had seemingly been turned in her direction. Was this a potntioal customer or a worker? If it really was Kinley's lucky day then the answer would be both.

"Mando... you looking for work or something a little spicier?"



Jett Vox

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Jett Vox]

​

Jett had only been planet-side for a few days, but had learned almost nothing about Lothal. Apparently they had cats. Furry little big-mouthed creatures with tiny eyes and tiny little legs. She was immediately sold. So much that she'd made it a point to take extra time while she was here. Her ship was in good working order, and her weapons were maintained and cared for. Even her helmet's voice emitter no longer had the characteristic crackle that had plagued her from the day she'd put it on.

Two things then happened at the same time. Kinley approached and spoke and her fizzy arrived with a clatter. Kinley made it obvious that she was addressing Jett, but the first words out of Kinley's mouth was punctuated by the bartender shouting; "One fizzy for Jett!" as the drink was delivered.

Jett's attention was split for a moment between the two of them, but all she caught was the beginning and the ending of Kinley's sentence.

Thankfully her helmet hid much of her confusion and expression, leaving her able to play it off. <bzzt> "You have a what now?" <bzzt> She snatched up the drink and lifted her helmet just above her chin so she could sip the sweet fizzy stuff, and then put it down on the bartop beside her. <bzzt> "I suppose I'm... uh... in the market--I mean I'm looking," <bzzt> she finished, nodding as she pushed gently off the bar. Her gloved hand stretched forward, palm out, fingers splayed as if looking to shake hands.

<bzzt> "I'm Jett. Nice to meet you." <bzzt>

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

You don't pay the piper in the Outer Rim. You pay Kinley Pryse.​

Kinley stared at the woman's outstretched hand like it was a thermal detonator with the pin half-pulled.

Was she serious? Had this girl never spent a single cycle in the galaxy's gutter?

A dozen smart remarks lined up on Kinley's tongue, most of them ending with bless your heart, but she swallowed them down. No need to start a scene. Yet.

Her gaze drifted to the door again, measuring her options. Flint's voice echoed in her head, smug as ever. She cursed him silently and turned back to the armored figure.

"Aye. Kinley."

She tipped the brim of her hat in greeting but left the offered hand hanging in open air. Handshakes weren't currency in the Underworld. Trust wasn't either.

"Look, Mando," she said, voice low and edged with impatience, "I've got a job that needs doing, and I need backup." A crooked half-smile tugged at her lips. "You interested in earning some creds today?"


Jett Vox

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Jett Vox]

​

Jett didn't wait long after the rejected handshake to drop her rejected palm and rub it awkwardly against her hip as if that was exactly what she'd meant to do. Things were starting to get oddly serious, and Jett was sure that this person was a lot more dangerous than she'd initially suspected.

There was that word again. Was it some kind of fruit or something? She'd have to ask. It didn't sound like an insult, but Jett didn't put it past Kinley yet.

<bzzt> "Su cuy'gar," she muttered with a hint to her tone that she almost meant it sarcastically, or didn't mean it at all. "I can do that." <bzzt>

She paused for a second, remembering something her teacher had told her.

<bzzt> "What does the job pay?" <bzzt>

The Cantina was noticeably quieter now. If someone was doing a deal with a Mandalorian, then someone was probably going to die and nobody here wanted to be the dead one. What they - and Kinley - didn't know was that the number of people Jett had killed could be counted on one hand... but maybe... just maybe... that number would increase by the end of this job. That is, if Kinley overlooked the "green" that was hidden under all that red beskar.

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse doesn't run from trouble. She just picks the direction it's least prepared for.​

Things were settling back into place. In the underworld, there was one universal language, money. Credits cut through tension, ego, and blaster smoke better than anything else.

Negotiation time.

Kinley didn't stress. Not when the numbers were clean and the risk wasn't hers to carry. This little detour was coming straight out of Flint's share of her monthly spice runs.

"Three hundred credits," she said. "Won't take more than two hours."

Fair price. Easy job. Clean math. Well easy enough... that is if they could get into the prison.

Now the only variable left was whether the Mando liked those odds.



Jett Vox

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Jett Vox]

​

<bzzt> "Three hundred credits?" <bzzt> Asked Jett, incredulously, her arms folding over her chest. <bzzt> "Are you kidding? What's the job, shoveling Bantha crap off someone's landing pad? I couldn't even wash my ship for that little!" <bzzt>

<bzzt> "This sounds like more of a job for a team of hungry Jawas, or maybe a baby. Maybe you should hire a baby for this one." <bzzt>

Jett was in a rare sarcastic spirit today. She was maybe three credits deep for the fizzy, but she had more than enough to pass up a job for three hundred credits. She muttered under her breath, <bzzt> "What would I do with all that money anyway? After the job, will you tell me not to 'spend it all in one place,' grandma?" <bzzt>

Well, maybe that had gone a little too far, but then again, Jett was a Mandalorian raised by a Mandalorian, and even if she didn't know what that meant entirely, it was in her blood. Conflict was a part of her very nature. Indeed, she'd been an unruly child, same as her sister. Growing up on a distant farming colony had done little to temper that.

Kinley Pryse

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Bounty hunters don't track Kinley Pryse. They schedule consultations.​

Kinley's lopsided grin crept slowly across her face, tugging higher at one corner as the girl's sass landed clean. Bold. Quick. Not the wide-eyed rookie she'd clocked five minutes ago. There was a spark there, sharp edges under that fresh paint.

Interesting.

Negotiations, though? Negotiations were Kinley's favorite kind of dance. Especially when the credits on the table had Flint's name stamped all over them. Risk felt lighter when the bill wasn't yours.

She leaned back in her chair, boots hooked on the rung, toothpick rolling from one side of her mouth to the other as she gave the girl a long, measuring look. The cantina lights glinted in her eyes, amused, calculating.

A slow clap. Once. Mocking, but not unkind.

"Well I'll be damned," she drawled. "Got a spine under all that baby shine."

Kinley tipped her chin toward the table between them, casual as gravity.

"Alright then, kiddo…" A pause. A smirk. "Name your price."


Jett Vox

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Jett Vox]

​

Jett answered immediately;

<bzzt> "An even share, obviously. Whatever everyone's getting, I want the same. If I'm doing equal work, I should be getting equal pay." <bzzt> She patted her blaster and knocked on her beskar chestplate. <bzzt> "Chances are, I'll be doing a lot more butt-saving when butts are getting saved, so I should be asking for more, I'm just not that greedy." <bzzt> She sipped her drink and then set it aside completely forgotten, frosty steam rising from the cup.

This time, emboldened by her own confidence and Kinley's change to the backfoot in negotiations, she reached out her gauntleted hand again. This time, her visored helmet tilted forward, nodding towards the hand. <bzzt> "We got a deal, lady?" <bzzt>

Just a little extra respect calling her "lady" instead of "grandma," but not much. Kinley would have to earn what she'd lost through her penny-pinching insult. <bzzt> "How about it?" <bzzt>