First Reply Two Fists With True Grit

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

Dark on Nar Shaddaa. Same druk, different dusk. High in the sky, across the city streets, that pavement that paved the way for evening, gritty and bleak, boots marched. Forward, always. Always forward. Onward, toward the doors of a cantina called The Misty Mynock, the figure walked.

A couple on the outside, kissing, they moved aside at the figure’s gait. The entrance gave way, the figure stepped in, armed and armored, pistols at hips and beskar’gam from head to toe, so no imagination when it came to what this figure is. Didn’t bother to turn head side to side, to look left and right, but kept walking.

Beyond the entrance, between the tables of patrons—sitting, standing, drinking, smoking, eating and speaking beneath the ceiling speakers. A few heads turned to the newcomer. They were ignored. Before the armored figure, dead ahead, was their target: the bar.

An arm came up to rest on the edge of the counter, shoulder draped in red garment, a sagum, a kind of cloak or poncho, that covered a portion of its person. The cantina was lit in orange, like a fire’s embers, with black leather furniture; a mesh that blended together with red and gold. That was the figure’s armor—gold and red from boot to helmet.

“You’re getting blood on my bar, Mando,” spoke the bartender.

The figure didn’t answer, just tilted head in a gesture, that black visor gazing, gaping, a T with three lines. The painting on the other side of the counter, however, hanging atop bottles along the wall, depicted an image of a black hole, a burning sphere, spitting sparks in lines beside that circle so round. Forged In Fire.

The Mandalorian removed her arm, a trail of blood from the armpit, straightened her sagum, pinched her brooch, that golden sun, and turned to face the cantina of patrons and then some.

She saw no others like her, no Mandalorians, then again this was the first cantina she had come across and didn’t know what to expect. There was scum here, for certain, given the location, but some were better dressed than others.

“Oya!” The Mandalorian addressed her audience. “I am Anvil. I need a bounty hunter, mercenary, ranger, scout, medic, anyone who wants credits and has a ship, really.” A moment of silence. “If you want a job, that’s where I’ll be.” Anvil pointed at a table in the corner.

She turned back to the bartender with a fistful of credits. “For the mess." -Clack- “A bottle of vodka.” -Click- “And to tell anyone I just spoke of who comes up to take a seat with me." -Clack- "Assuming those present are chickenkriffs."

The barkeep nodded and slid over a bottle as the Mandalorian heard another handful.

“Damn Mandos,” one muttered.

“We kinda don’t take kindly to your kind round here.” Another leered.

Anvil pointed her bottle at the same table. “And if anyone has a problem with Mandalorians...that’s where I’ll be.”

With that, she found her corner table and sat down. She’d likely kindly hire the first person who was able to put her on the ground anyhow.

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn stared idly at the cantina ceiling, listening to the funky Huttese music, when light flooded the room. He didn't need to look at the newcomer to know they weren't the average customer.

Where other patrons' wills were weak, and their minds only focused on drinking, this newcomer had a purpose in being here. Zinayn glanced to the side, and watched the Mandalorian walk in. Then, she spoke.

“I am Anvil. I need a bounty hunter, mercenary, ranger, scout, medic, anyone who wants credits and has a ship, really.”

The Chiss tilted his head slightly to the side and pulled his hood closer around his face. A job could be interesting. Just the thing he was looking for, actually. When the Mando took a seat across the room, Zinayn got up and headed over. He walked leisurely, and looked around as if taking in a beautiful scene in nature. As if stumbling upon the table by accident, he stopped abruptly and looked at the T-shaped visor staring back at him. All the woman would see was glowing red eyes underneath the white hood.

"Greetings, I am Irizi'nay'nuru, but you may call me Zinayn. I heard you wanted someone with a ship, and who wanted credits, yes?"

Casany Praxor

 

[Ruff Woofington]

Spek played around with the bracelet on his wrist. He was wondering whether or not Mandalorian helmets had any sort of filter that could block his natural Zeltron pheromones.

Usually, it took the spacer a couple of weeks at best to find a new job. Which was time he productively spent drinking at cantinas, as a way to be on the look-out for the next potential employer, of course.

He did not care much for Nar Shaddaa or Hutt Space for that matter, so the sooner he got a job that could pay for the fuel to get out of there, the better.

But, was it worth it if the employer was a blood-spattered Mando?

"Bah, next time, I shouldn't take this long to decide," he said to himself, as he noticed someone else beating him to the punch. Shaking the glass on his hand prior to gulping it down, he concluded. "I guess I'll just have another one of these, then..."

OOC:

Apologies for butting in. I was writing a lengthy post when I refreshed the page and realized that I'd lost my chance. Decided to at least post something to make myself feel better for all the time I've wasted! Xp

EDIT: AND POSTED WITH THE WRONG ACCOUNT! WHAT IS GOING ON?

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

The music shifted into something less elaborate than everyone’s typical galactic trumpets.
That was yet to be expected in just about any establishment that had no real cultural focus.
The Mandalorian listened in, absentmindedly, training her gaze on the table and what’s on it.
A bottle, a few cups, a basic medit from her person, a datapad, switched off, the screen blank.

Behind her visor, the Mandalorian spotted someone who had actually decided to approach her.
Her people may have been less than welcome in this establishment, but some weren’t deterred.
That alone rewarded the arrival with the attention of that black visor as her helmet tilted upward.
She spotted the white hood, the red eyes, and wasn’t terribly convinced the visit was an accident.

As the man introduced himself, the Mandalorian appreciated “Zinayn” as a shorthand name.
She otherwise wasn’t fazed by his appearance. She'd even seen white eyes, red robes, anyway.
“Correct,” Anvil answered him. “Take a seat.” She promptly took off her helmet and rested it.
Her face revealed, plain as day, long brown hair braided, drooped over a shoulder as it rested.

“Ship might be needed but hoping we can stick to the moon.” She spoke while looking away.
Anvil’s gaze was on her movements, pulling her cape away and parting her armpit garment.
She splashed vodka on the wound but she didn’t flinch. Truth be told, it wasn’t even needed.
She had bacta in her kit but she liked the burn of vodka, whether the rule of cool applied too.

“Better to know my partner has transport.” She finally applied bacta. “Bounties tend to move.”
Flesh would seal and heal some time later as the bleeding ceased. That took care of one wound.
“Drink?” Anvil poured vodka into one of the cups, offered one to her counterpart, and didn’t wait.
Knocking back the shot, she poured another, but held back. “I got a bounty and there’s good pay.”

Fingers tapped on her datapad. Anvil slid it across the table for Zinayn to see the target’s face.
“Chom Taney.” Reward and crime were displayed beneath his name. “Wanted for murder, theft.”
She blinked, recalling a recent memory, suppressing the reality. “In bed with a local swoop gang.”
The Mandalorian licked her lips; tasted crisp, spicy spirit. “To my surprise. So I need another hand.”

More hands? She scanned around the cantina, spotting others looking at her; some were mean.
She didn’t care about them. Others looked interested. She could do with at least two assistants.
“Problem is, I don’t know who the swoop gang is, but they’re dangerous. Need to first ID them.”
Memories came back. Embarrassed, she didn’t blush. “And then we find a way into their nest.”

Zinayn Spek Zhio

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn nodded at the mission description and looked at the cup of vodka that slid towards him. He sighed inwardly. Just this once. He slammed the drink back and finished it in one gulp. Then he barely succeeded in refraining from coughing. When he set the cup back on the table, something else was waiting for him. The Mando's datapad. And on it, a face.

The hooded Chiss looked at the woman, then back at the 'pad. "Alright. I'll be able to help you with this. Nice reward. But in general, I don't really care for murderers."

Zinayn placed a hand on his chin and began to think. To ID them, they might have to infiltrate the gang stealthily, or find out any information possible in any other way. And then the Chiss and Mandalorian would bring the gang down. Simple as that. But Zinayn didn't like to underestimate his opponents. He glanced at the Mando, at her weapons, and her overall physique. She certainly seemed combat capable, and could easily take down a few criminals. But then again...


"When do we get started?"

Spek Zhio Casany Praxor

 

[Spek Zhio]

"Hey waiter! Hey!" The Zeltron waved the empty glass in the air. "Another one!" He turned the glass upside down to signify that it was empty. "Is anyone even listening? Does anyone even doshing work here?

"Hey! What the actual druk?" With his left hand, he reached for his pheromone bracelet on the right wrist. "Nar Shaddaa, man... Nar Shadaa..." Usually used to suppress his natural Zeltron pheromones, it could instead be used to direct them, as well as increase the distance that they could travel. "Let's see if I can or cannot get a farking waiter to pay attention to me now!"

That was when Spek Zhio, noticed the Mando removing her helmet. "Well that changes things," he snickered. "No more guessing about helmets and filters."

Picking up the empty glass from the table, Zhio casually approached the counter, activating the special bracelet halfway through, and directing some charisma-enhancing molecules towards the potential employer. And who is to say, what kind of compensation would she be willing to offer for a job well done?

"Hey! Fill this up please," standoffish, he told the bartender, placing the empty glass on the countertop and also resting his elbow on it, body slightly turned as if to face Anvil. The freelancer's head was still facing the bartender refilling his drink, but his eyes would occasionally stray towards the woman beside him, stealing glances and waiting for the right opportunity to engage.

Surely the pheromones were having full effect on her by then, so Zhio directed a few towards the Devaronian barkeep that was returning with a full glass. "How much do I," emphasis on the 'I', accompanied by a wink, "have to pay?"

"Oh," the intimidating horned male giggled, "it's on the house!"

"Thank you very much, kind sir. Say, I really do like your horns," Spek slightly gestured with the filled glass, now on his hand, towards them, "They're very... horny?"

The Devaronian giggled again.

"My new friends here also ordered drinks, no? Why not treat them as well?"

"But of course! Your money is no good here, tonight you three drink for free!"

"That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? You three drink for free... Carry on now, let us talk in peace.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," Spek addressed Anvil, "Are you in need of an expert pilot-slash-navigator-slash-scoundrel-extraordinaire with his own set of wings just roosting on the hangar outside?" He winked and threw one of his best smiles at her.

Without any aid from the pheromones, he was sure that this was about to become disastrous.

"Pleasure to meet you Anvil - I hope you don't mind, I remember your name from your announcement before." He held an outstretched hand. "The name's Spek Zhio. It's Zhio with a 'zh' as in decision or collusion."

He was about to find out.

"And... your friend here is?..."

Casany Praxor Zinayn

OOC:

Again sorry for my mix-up, guys.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

​

Anvil didn’t really care for murderers either, though ‘murder’ generally depended on one’s perspective in this crazy galaxy, especially when it came to her. Chom Taney, however, was a character less than lawful, looked an awful lot like a di’kut and, more importantly, had a bounty on his head that a hunter was permitted to collect.

Zinayn had only one question for the woman who had sat before him dressing her wound. Then again, a wounded Mandalorian was common enough given their reputation. About as common as a Zeltron who didn’t need to activate pheromones in order to be attractive. He walked up before she could answer the other.

Her lips didn’t spread but an eyebrow rose as she took in his face. Well, hello. Calling him handsome would be an understatement. Sharp, arched brows, eyes as hazel as hers, hair more a blend of brown and red, strong jaw and rigid lips. He looked Human, if as pretty as a Zeltron ought to be.

Pilot/Navigator/Scoundrel, is it? He did have that roguish tint to him. “Or explosion.” Anvil took his hand and gripped it firmly. Hopefully he wasn’t expecting an elegant lady’s delicate embrace. She was a woman but a Mandalorian warrior for kriffsake.

Gesturing for Spek to take a seat, intro's were over and she briefed the newcomer on the job and expanded on it. “There’s more than one swoop gang on this asscrack of the galaxy, but we should look for one with an emblem of a black flame. Find these biker di’kuts and we find this sack of shit tagging with them and we bag him.” She swallowed the burn in her throat. “Alive or dead.” Thudded her empty cup on the tabletop. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?"

They needed to learn the gang’s name, their base, where they operated (hangouts, hideouts, and swoops meant on the move), and there was more than one way to do that. Probably someone in the cantina could provide their name at least, like the bartender, if not the holonet. That was the simplest step. Anvil just hadn’t gotten to it yet. She had been too busy bleeding.

 

[Spek Zhio]

Spek graciously smiled as he shook the Mandalorian's calloused hand, instead of having to dodge a punch to the face. She had a firm yet not overbearing grip, which was both expected and welcomed. Expected from a warrior such as her, welcomed that she did not tried to engage in some sort of barbaric muscle-flexing competition.

On his part, the Zeltron did not care much for narrow-minded displays of machismo, so he simply continued to nonchalantly grip her hand in kind, until the handshake came to its natural conclusion. "Like in explosion, you say? Well, certainly. Explosion as in fireworks and sparks flying, maybe?" He smiled.

Accepting the invitation to sit down with them, Zhio surreptitiously switched the bracelet back into pheromone suppressing mode, pretending to be straightening the sleeves of his red jacket. He carefully studied the profile on the datapad. "I was under the impression that you were looking for transport, not fellow bounty hunters... My fault for jumping to the wrong conclusion," she did announce 'anyone who wants credits and has a ship', but he was not about to back down after offering assistance. A bad rap could hinder his chances of future business. And he was incapable of saying no to a pretty - even if stern - face. "It's all the same to me, no worries. I wouldn't be conducting business in Nar Shaddaa anyways if I couldn't handle myself."

Finishing his drink while the others were talking, he then ordered another round for the three at the joyful barkeep. His Zeltron pheromones would still take some time to be fully metabolized and lose their effect.

"A swoop gang wearing a black flame insignia?... Wait, I know those guys!" He paused for dramatic effect. "No, not really! I kid. But I do know some people on this sarlacc pit of a moon that might be willing to part ways with the right information... for the right price.

"I'm sure I can reach an understanding with one of them, but it's best I go alone. We don't want to scare away the mynocks now, do we?

"Our blue friend here," he motioned towards Zinayn, "wouldn't have approached you in the first place if he didn't have his own ship, no? So - and I know it's usually a bad idea - but I suggest we split up in search of leads, but stay in touch and regroup before engaging.

"I know we're all capable, but it doesn't mean we should go easy on the opposition, amirite?"

Zinayn

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn didn't take his eyes off the datapad as a new figure walked over to the table. Spek Zhio. Interesting name. "No concerns, Anvil," the Chiss said coolly.

"A swoop gang wearing a black flame insignia?... Wait, I know those guys!" He paused for dramatic effect. "No, not really! I kid. But I do know some people on this sarlacc pit of a moon that might be willing to part ways with the right information... for the right price.

"I'm sure I can reach an understanding with one of them, but it's best I go alone. We don't want to scare away the mynocks now, do we?

"Our blue friend here," he motioned towards Zinayn, "wouldn't have approached you in the first place if he didn't have his own ship, no? So - and I know it's usually a bad idea - but I suggest we split up in search of leads, but stay in touch and regroup before engaging.

"I know we're all capable, but it doesn't mean we should go easy on the opposition, amirite?"

Now, the red eyes turned towards Spek. Surely going their seperate ways would be the fastest way to get the information...but if the Spek and Anvil dumped him on this mission...no matter. Hopefully he could get a tracker on one of them. If not, so be it. "Splitting up, eh? Sounds good to me, but I suppose it's up to Anvil. What do you think, Mando?"

Spek Zhio Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

​

Transporters or warriors with or without the Force, Anvil had announced “bounty hunters” and “mercenaries” in addition to “credits” and “ship” to indicate this was dangerous. Maybe she should have worded it better but she had been a bit pissed upon walking in on account of a hidden wound beside her armpit. Nobody questioned it, though, so she wouldn’t admit it.

Yet Spek did have the right of it. He was in a bar on Nar Shaddaa with an offer from a Mandalorian. He damn well better be able to handle himself regardless of the job. As he ordered another round, Anvil waved a hand the way a Jedi might. Really she was just dismissing his offer, content with her bottle of vodka, and willing to share it if wanted.

Spek was about to share his knowledge on the swoop gang before coming up empty. Anvil tilted her head at him in mock disappointment. Amid bandaged armpits and sarlacc pits, there was some charm in his being a bit of an idiot. Zinayn, on the other hand, was like ice despite his red eyes. It was typical for a Chiss but something Anvil could appreciate. Tapping a finger on her cup, she contemplated the options, pouring another shot. The handsome Human’s offer inspired her.

“I think I need two fists with true grit but we don’t need to hold hands the whole way. And it’s up to you guys if you want to ditch me anytime—you just won’t get paid.”

Her voice didn’t drip with bitterness; an honest gaze in place of a grin. It made no sense for her to hire either of them only to dump them in turn. Not yet. She needed bodies but wasn’t greedy, willing to split the bounty and whatever plunder the gang had, though there was more to it not yet explored.

“On that note, splitting up should make this quicker. I’ll head back the way I came where I . . . ” She blinked. “ . . . First heard about my bounty’s new posse… Could be somebody who can volunteer information on these shabuirs. Zin can come with me, be Spek’s backup just in case the mynocks want to scratch his pretty face, or maybe check out a biker den? Might be some rivals in there willing to share.”

Anvil would offer her com number and wait in case they had more to say before they went on their way. She would make sure to down her shot and take the bottle along with her.

Zinayn Spek Zhio

 

[Spek Zhio]

"And why would we do that?" Spek inquired, regarding the comment about them ditching her. "A scoundrel's word is his bond," was said in earnest, disregarding the clear contradiction. "But, I don't work for free. No need for an advance on the payment though, but I'd like to know what exactly is in it for me. A third of the bounty, I presume?" As the saying went, 'honor among thieves'. Not that there was any among the three, but on the off chance that one of them tried to claim the whole bounty for themselves, word would spread like wildfire and Zhio was bound to find them eventually. It would not be a smart move for anyone in that situation, to burn bridges that were still being built.

He had, however, noticed her wound. The one she was not actively trying to conceal - or at least, efficiently so. It could have been part of the explanation as to why she needed assistance. Or, there could be more to the gig than meets the eye, and she could have been withholding information. Nevertheless, Spek thought she might have considered it an insult had he mentioned it.

Gulping down his drink, as if ready to leave, the Zeltron turned to his new companions and said, "I'm off to see a Toydorian about a swoop gang. Don't worry boss, not my first time poking a mynock's nest, in more ways than one..." Retrieving a comlink from his utility belt, he fiddled with its controls before presenting it to them, "You can use this scrambled frequency to reach me, I'll be sure to not go dark" and, storing it back into its pouch, turned to Zinayin, "Blue," making a finger gun and, with a wink and a tongue click as he pretended to shoot, adding "As the boss said, I'll be counting on you to have my back in case the poodoo hits the fan and I'm in need of some... strategic retreat. Don't sweat it though. Slim chance of that happening. Me and this vile fairy go a long way back!"

And with that, he was on his way out the cantina.

Zinayn

OOC/EDIT:

Sorry. Initially tagged the wrong person.

I'll be sure to try and match the pace of my side of the story with yours. So as to not have one side or the other advance most of the plot.

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn waved to Spek Zhio as he made his way out of the cantina. Then, he turned to Anvil. "I'll hang around Zhio's area. Where you find one gang, you may find another across the street."

The Chiss pulled out his comlink and showed his frequency to the Mando, then ordered another water from the bar and gulped it down. He patted his side, and felt the comforting shape of his lightsaber. Zinayn was ready. With one last nod to the bartender, he followed Zhio out of the bar.

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music OOC

​

Why would someone ditch anyone after they’d been hired in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa?
It was a question Anvil could only shrug at given her circumstances. A scoundrel’s word…
What did these people know of honor? Of words and bonds? Most people knew money.
“Third of the bounty.” She nodded, but wasn’t irritated. A fair question and a fair answer.

‘Honor among thieves’ may indeed be a rarity but not between these three. Or with her.
Anvil was just her moniker. She was Casany Praxor. Not a thief. She’d been forged in fire.
Her contemporaries did not need to know that, however. They were the beams of bridges.
She needed to build them in this city, like the spider’s web for its prey. They were her fists.

If only for the duration of this mission, that is.
“K'oyacyi...” Casany offered toward Spek’s exit.
That left the Chiss. For him, she simply nodded.
Can I actually count on them to catch my target?

The question would be answered later. For now, the Mandalorian rose and left the establishment.
Bottle in hand, but she didn’t sip. No alcoholic, she might yet need it. It wasn’t exceptional vodka.
It did the trick, however, as the ‘drunken Mandalorian’ stumbled past pedestrians, past cantinas.
No one paid her any notice, she kept from being seen, no need to sneak, with secret business.

There it is. She found the alley she’d previously left. She had no one tailing her. This is the way.
The alleyway took her to an abandoned area of this sector. Buildings were decrepit, neglected.
Can say the same for most of the moon, true, but this is different. Not even criminal elements.
Cas tossed the bottle, fixed her cloak, pistol on her hip, no jetpack, and she turned her helmet.

---

The Hangars
Casany Praxor​

Buildings junctioned in a mess, a kind of spider web, yet with certain structures set up in a row.
Alone, hearing wind, city life in the distance, the Mandalorian found her quarry and approached.
It was the same hangar door as before, where she had left it, when it was open. Now it's closed.
So open it, idiot. If it didn’t open it’d be broken. Cas reached a hand. A voice made itself known.

“Need something, stranger?” The figure stood further away, much shorter, by another hangar.
“That’s it?” Cas tilted her head. “Not ‘Mando’ or ‘Buckethead’?” Heck, she had half-expected.
“You could wear a tutu for all I care,” the man snorted. “To me, you would still be a stranger.”
He moved closer and approached, slowly. Whoever he was, Casany did not sense danger.

“This hangar was open last time I was here.”
“Now it’s closed. Top and bottom.”
Cas couldn’t fly but there was a ladder to the side where the hangar’s bay door on the roof would open to let a ship in.
“I need to get in.”
“Why?”
“My ship is inside.”
“How do I know it’s yours?”
“Why do you care?”
“This area might be abandoned but not entirely. I’m here, stranger. I take care of these hangars even if few use them.”
The area was dimly lit as the figure came closer, a shadow against the duracrete, but definitely a shorter being.
“Then you can open the door.”
“I can.”
“Will you open the door?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You claim what’s inside is yours. I know what’s inside but I don’t know you.”
“I could force it open.”
“You could try.”
She sighed. “I could force you to open it.”
The figure stepped into the pale orange light. There was no denying it. His face betrayed an aged Ugnaught, only older, with bruises on his visage.
“You wouldn’t be the first to use force on me. It didn’t work last time. It won’t work this time.”
“What happened?”
“Tell you what, you play a hand of cards with me and I’ll tell you. If you win, I’ll also open this door.”
Cas twisted her lips beneath her helmet. "If I lose?”
“I won’t open this door. I have spoken.”
The Mandalorian fell silent, staring, thinking. He's wearing my patience.
“What game? Pazaak? Sabacc?”
“Pah!” He spat. “Piss on pazaak. Or Sabacc, for that matter. I prefer good old fashioned poker.”
I prefer my shooter. “I have other questions, mister.”
“Hold them until we get in.”
“About a gang of swoopers that came through here earlier. Did you see them or m—”
“Hold your questions. I have spoken.”
Dank ferrik. She followed him. He clearly had information. Even if not beating it out of him went against her angered judgment.

Zinayn Spek Zhio

 

[Spek Zhio]

"Blue," Spek addressed Zinayn, "I'll be going solo on this one. You're free to shadow me from your ship if you want, just follow my comm beacon. Try not to get too close, though."

The Zeltron approached his ship and waved towards her. The starboard cargo bay doors began to open, and he walked inside.

"Alcy, I'll be gone for a while," he informed the ship, while climbing on top of his speeder bike. "You be a good girl now and stay on the lookout. I'll comm you if I'm in need of a quick pick up."

He revved the engine, "Track everyone using my frequency, the two others you should be picking up, are with me. Let me know if anyone else is eavesdropping." With that, he was off. The cargo doors closing behind him.

---

-- The Fairy Godfather --
-- Theme --​

Most people would figure that the Undercity of Nar Shaddaa would be the best place to gather clues regarding its criminals.

Most people would be wrong.

Criminals of all kinds, go to where the credits are. And, in the Huttese ecumenopolis, that was the Promenade. Remarkably, one of - if not - the safest place on the moon, was nevertheless the best spot to acquire intel regarding the city's underbelly. Due to the many business interests of several Hutts, that each contributed to a security force, which kept those interests intact. This made the Promenade a safe heaven for thieves looking to secure a mark, before following it out the district. As well as for those others that trade in information, concerning those individuals.

There were plenty of landing pads near the Promenade, but Spek wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible coming in, while also capable of a quick getaway if the need presented itself.

Zhio, parked his speeder next to Falsetto's Curios and Trinkets, and entered it. The shop had all kinds of knickknacks and tech on display. It acted as a pawnshop, for those poor bastards stupid enough to blow everything they had at the nearby casinos. But, its owner, also pawned the kind of commodity that Spek was after.

"Tony!" He announced, walking in.

"Spek-a! Gabagool!" The blue Toydorian, wearing a fedora, came flying towards him, arms open wide. "Give-a me a kiss-e!" And proceeded to kiss the Zeltron twice on each cheek.

Spek did his best to hide his awkwardness. "Tony, Tony Falsetto, the one and only! How you been?" He patted Tony on the sides of his trunk, his pheromones doing their thing.

Toydorians might have been impervious to Force persuasion, but not to chemical one. In turn, Tony's sweetspice body scent was flaring up into Zhio's nostrils.

"Not-a bad, not-a bad. Hey! That last-a piece of information you-a sold me... Great-a finding, Spek-a! We drove-a the competition away-a!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "We go back!"

"That-a we do-e! That-a we do-e, Spek-a! Way, way back-a!" Tony raised an eyebrow. "So... you-a came here to collect, huh?"

"That's right, Tony. I was wondering if you could repay me the favor, with some information of your own..."

"Ah! Ma' Spek-a, but-e you know-e I cannot trade-a Hutt secrets!"

"No, no. Nothing like that, Tony. I didn't come here to put you in a tough spot. I'm actually after small fry, nothing to do with the Hutts, I hope. I'm after a swoop gang. Their colors is a black flame."

Tony swapped raised eyebrows, then back again. He gave Zhio an inscrutable look. After a couple of seconds, that seemed to stretch forever, the Toydorian mobster finally said, "I think-a I can help you with that... Follow me out-a back-e!

"We shouldn't-a be speaking in here-a..."

Spek followed behind the hovering Toydorian. Going to the alley behind his pawnshop for simple information? That was a first.

But there's always a first time for everything, right?

OOC

I apologize for stereotyping. It was done in - what I consider - good humor and hopefully no one finds it offensive.

Zinayn Casany Praxor

 

[Zinayn]

Zinayn veered off his course, turning away from the tall commercial buildings that marked the location as the Promenade, also known as the safest city on Nar Shaddaa. At least back in the day. Who knew how safe it was now? Zhio would probably find out very soon. But he could take care of himself.

In the viewport now was a decently sized city. Wormtown. Nowadays, it was a snug home for arms dealers, gladiators, outlaws, and many more. Including an organized crime group. They practically ran the city, and most of the police had long since turned tail.

The Chiss flicked a switch to start the landing cycle, and lowered his shuttle down right outside a large swamp. He felt the ground give way to the shuttle, and for a second, thought he was going to drop straight through the mud. Thank the Force he didn't.

Zinayn patted his sides, making sure that he had his lightsaber, then lowered the ramp. Immediately, a horrible smell greeted him. Sewage? Probably. Before he could smell any more, he pinched his nose and picked up his pace to a light jog, headed towards the bright neon lights of the city ahead.

Minutes later, Zinayn was approaching a permacrete arch. On either side of the arch, on the wall, was a tattered crimson tarp. And under those tarps were laughing, drinking men. "-onkey lizard!" exclaimed a Nikto, barely refraining from bursting out in laughter. His companions couldn't resist, and started guffawing stupidly. The Nikto was about to tell another joke when he turned slightly...then whipped around, surprised.

"Hey, you! You a gladiator?"

Before Zinayn could respond, the outlaw chuckled and continued, "Well you're in the right spot. Let me lead you to the arena."

He stood up and waved the hooded figure over. It certainly wasn't his plan, but maybe...maybe he could find someone in the arena who knew something about a black flame emblem. Hopefully he didn't get carried away...

The Chiss was led through the streets like some prize. The Nikto waved at the arms vendors who were spread out on the roads, and on each street, he announced the same thing: We have a new contestant!

This man was certainly enthusiastic. Zinayn decided to push his luck and ask straight to his face about the gang. "Excuse me, but I'm here for information. Do you happen to know-"

"Ah ah ah! You have to fight first. Information has a price. And my price is to see you in the arena. So ask me your question once you've beaten your first opponent. I'll consider that question while you fight your second opponent. Then, once you beat the champion of this little fight club, I'll answer your question to the best of my ability," he promised, flashing a grin at him.

The word of an outlaw was either close to nothing, or one of the strongest promises in the galaxy. There were honourable outlaws, and there were scumbags. Zinayn decided that he'd have to play this Nikto's game to even give himself a chance about learning about the swoop gang, and Chom Taney.

Casany Praxor Spek Zhio

 

[Casany Praxor]

The Hangars

Casany Praxor

Spoiler: Music IC

​

The Mandalorian followed the Ugnaught into the building, which was basically just another hangar, albeit with more equipment, more of a setup as a ‘someone-lives-here' kinda gig over ‘this-is-just-where-I-repair-equipment’. It came with no alarms, and had its charm, catering to a survivalist who didn’t give a kriff if he wasn’t rich, as long as he was livin’.

He guided his guest toward the middle of the hangar, though the Mandalorian had to remind herself that this was his living quarters, no mere hangar. Benches on the left and right, tables and chests, ready and able to bend metal. Whether weights or the test of computer tech, the user was clearly equipped to handle the basics and the rudimentary of surviving.

Survive. That one word was like light and life in Casany Praxor’s mind. She could appreciate what it takes to get by on the simplest of provisions, with a small fridge and blinking lights, a few plants to permeate oxygen and a way of keeping honest by having no distractions as did those criminal elements in which one bounty hunter was bound after.

“Take a seat,” the Ugnaught gestured toward a table capable of seating two persons either end.

“Should I take my helmet off?” Cas asked, uncertain. Music drifted within the establishment, undeniably relaxing, if a bit too groovy for the owner’s bruises.

“Take a seat.” He repeated. “I have spoken.”

At that, Cas took a seat. The table was empty, save for a deck of cards, plain, nothing fancy, red and blue front to back, with crests of who-knows-who as far as Cas could establish.

“Do you have to take the helmet off to drink?” The Ugnaught’s voice was clear as he disappeared into a kitchen. “I know some of you Mandos have to sip or lift the base of that helmet. But I have no intention of disrespect.”

“I’ll manage,” Cas answered, knowing what was coming. She took her helmet off, let her long braid of brown hair drape to her back, and set the helm aside. Her host emerged into view with a bottle in one hand and two cups in the other. “Homebrew and so true.”

Ignoring the woman’s plain gaze, he made his way to the other end of the table, sat down, offered no lies in his eyes, neither fables. “Cheap to make. Tastes like Weequay. Not that I’ve tried.” He tried to reassure her, sliding a cup forward. He sipped first. It burned. “Hits the spot. Not gonna lie.”

Cas took her cup, swirled it as if it was a glass of wine, but it wasn’t, so she took a sip. It burned. She chugged it. It was worse. “GAH!” She spat. “This battery acid or what comes out of a bantha’s backside!?”

“Moonshine.” Ug laughed. “My kind. I have spoken.”

“I don’t deny it.” The Mandalorian coughed.

“You are Human.”

“Aye. Were you expecting a Herglic?”

“Far from it. I understand that Mandalorians are a culture, not a species. I can appreciate this dichotomy.”

Cas sensed he had more wisdom in his sentence and sentiments but didn’t wish to persist. “Cards, then?”

“Aye.” The Ugnaught guy took the deck, shuffled it with a two-handed flip, and dealt. “Hold 'em."

“I am.” Cas insisted.

“Nah. The name of the game is Hold ‘Em. I’ll explain.” He explained.

“Gotcha.” Cas nodded, gazing at the two cards in her hand. “See a biker gang pass through?” She didn’t pose the question as if to be rude.

“Sons of Darkness.” He didn’t look up from his own hand as he answered, giving nothing away on his face. The name sounded like a Sith cult. “Used to do repairs and mods on their bikes. before the club crew grew and changed turf.”

Ah. A mechanic. That explains it. He set five cards on the tabletop. “Knew one of their lieutenants personally…" He flipped three of five cards over. "What was his name?" The music changed.

Spek Zhio Zinayn