Working on a Spice Moon

[Blitz]

Nar Shaddaa
Undercity

It was called a brotherhood - a fraternity of men and a sorority of women that were knit together like family. Amaul had a predilection for family and he let it be known that those who he called brother or sister were under his protection and his watchful gaze. Although a masculine form of the name, there was no short of ladies in the employ, but those were less caught up in his internal affairs. His place of business was a combination of metal and fabric, with heavy laden drapes covering the walls in various spots, while a grated ceiling let in light from the streets above in these undercity catacombs. The air was thick with the smells of various legal spices to make for a welcome scent, and yet it also fogged the air and left that tinge of mystery and haunting notions permeate the place.

In the main parlor a large wooden desk rested before the throne-like chair where Amaul resided during times of discussing deals and making profitable decisions. The dark hued structure was laden with scented candles and a few vials of incense leaving smoke to rise in wispy lines up towards the grates above. Currently a metallic case rested open faced upon the desk with a black fabric rack elevated on hinged metal joints. Ten vials lined in a row encased a golden hued liquid with black caps fastening each in their station. Dark digits swept across each vial, turning them to the left and to the right before plucking one from it's resting spot and giving the vial a shake. A close scrutiny rested on the vial as the contents shifted and ebbed with the previous shaking afforded it.

Blitz rested comfortably on his perch, while going over the ten vials he had laid before him. The vials were his own, and they were considerable payment for services rendered. The issue wasn't their contents - the issue was performance. In this particular case it was a Rodian who had not lived up to his specific part of the bargain struck. Despite the scaled features and elongated portions of the man, it was clear the Rodian was nervous. Most were when in the presence of the very mellow, yet erratic Blitz. Green digits wrung in a clearly anxious behavior as he watched with big beady eyes how Amaul inspected the payment he was about to give to this Rodian. Shakily he rose a finger and pointed towards the vial in Amaul's hand.

"Is that the stuff?" He managed to squeak out. Not shaking from the nervousness alone, but from with a serious case of withdrawl. The cure for the shakes and the feverish attitude was the fix he could get from just a third of one of those vials. He had been offered ten, which could last him a month's time, maybe longer if he didn't get carried away. Vohl had a hard time doing that though, and he had an even tougher time trying to come to terms with how to get Amaul's required job accomplished. His attention though was on the cure to his ailment and he watched it like a hungry kath-hound.

"One hundred percent my man. This right here is the ticket to clarity that I promised." Blitz's signature deep tones came out in a mellow and cool fashion as he shook the vial again to gaze at it's golden shades. Another thin stream of smoke ebbed from between his lips where a custom deathstick hung from his lips. "And I always deliver on my promises." A small smirk rose on his features as he set the vial just out of arm's reach from the Rodian. His fingers still pressed to the vial. "The question is, do you? Do you keep your promises, Vohl?" He asked in an interrogating fashion while he took another drag from the stick. The Rodian's eyes stuck fast to that vial as his suction cup like digits began to move closer and closer to the vial, as if victory was just in sight. Inches before he reached it, he knew he couldn't go further unless he stood up.

"Y..Yes sir. Vohl always keeps his promises." The somewhat happy tone of the Rodian came out as he began to get more and more excited. That excitement turned to dread as Amaul snatched the vial away in an instant and sat back, inspecting the vial once more, well out of Vohl's grasp. A gasp let out as he nearly fell against the desk, sitting on the edge of his seat. "I did..I swear I did!" He said in desperation, nearly begging Blitz to believe his report.

"Brother Ofta." Amaul turned his attentions to one of his faithful lieutenants; a Zabrak with a healthy scowl written across his horned and tattooed face.

"Yes Big Brother Blitz." The reply came in complete obedience to the owner of this den. Ofta was a large and muscular Zabrak that was currently clothed in various shades of black and grey with the muscular forearms barren to show off his strength and the various symbols drawn over the expanse of his arms.

"Do you think that Vohl kept his promises as he says? Or did we read differently in the latest feed about the events of the other night?" Blitz asked in a curious and sly tone. It was certainly rhetorical, but Ofta knew better than to keep silent, he was there to cooaberate and do other things for the leader of this brotherhood, this family.

"We read differently Big Brother Blitz." And upon speaking Ofta slipped a piece of rolled up flimsi from his back pocket and placed it on the desk before Vohl. The motion capturing video displayed on the top showed the Rodian ducking out of the alley before ensuring that the victim was actually dead. He'd left unfinished business, and though it had looked like a mortal wound, there were rescue attempts made listed in the article that put the victim in critical but stable condition at a local hospital.

"You're right Brother Ofta, I do recall reading that this scum sucking piece of Bantha poo-doo before me renigged on our agreement." His tone became malicious at that last, while cursing out the Rodian before him. The vial he had been holding had been replaced with a large durasteel bat that was gripped in the leather gloves that he wore. Standing up, and pressing the end of the bat directly underneath the Rodian's chin. "I said dead, sleemo. Not bleeding, not in crit. Dead means dead, whether it's brain blown or decapitated. Last I checked breathing through tubes is not dead!" Blitz snarled at the terrified Rodian who was paralyzed with fear. Amaul's tech shades lit up with a brilliant red theme in the animated loop of digital fire.

Instantly pleas of forgiveness, mercy and pardons came out of the Rodian's elongated lips. He was an annoying and trepedatious employee, and Amaul was going to teach him a singular lesson. The mewling was swiftly cut-off when the bat made contact with the Rodian's skull and slammed him onto the ground near Ofta's feet. In the background the high pitched squeals of a beek-monkey echoed in the den as it leapt from perch to perch finally coming to rest on Amaul's shoulder. A single nod to Ofta gave leave to hull the body of the Rodian outside for disposal.

"That's what dead looks like." Amaul commented wiping some blood off the bat before he moved to sit back on his throne, and invert the bat to use as a makeshift cane. "Send in my four thirty if he's here yet." Blitz said as he began to close up the case of spice that he had laid out simply to taunt and toy with the Rodian who he had just disposed of. He hoped this next appointment would be more on track with his liking. Some contention was in the water - whispers of things to come, and while he kept a healthy ear to the ground, it was the eyes the told the story; a story in which Blitz intended to read.

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]

 

[Lysle of the Hydian Way]

Theme

​

In the lowest levels, in the abyssal urban depths, of the ecumenopolis that was Nar Shaddaa, it was a rare thing indeed to see sunlight. For the inhabitants of the baroque and gleaming cloud cutters, sky towers and superskytowers—the latter reaching as much as two kilometres high— the sun was something taken for granted, just as were the other comforts of life. Since WeatherNet guaranteed that it never rained until dusk or later, the rich golden sunlight was simply expected, in the same way that one expected air to fill one’s lungs with every breath.

But hundreds of stories below the first inhabited floors of the great towers, ziggurats, and minarets, in some places actually on or under the city-planet’s surface, it was another story. Here hundreds of thousands of humans and other species lived and died, sometimes without ever catching as much as a glimpse of the fabled sky. Here the light that filtered through the omnipresent gray inversion layer was wan and pallid. The rain that reached the surface was nearly always acidic, enough so at times to etc tiny channels and grooves into ferrocarbon foundations. It was hard to believe that anything at all could survive in these dismal trenches. Yet even here life, both intelligent and otherwise, had adjusted long ago to the perpetual twilight and structured environment.

At the very bottom of the chasms, in the variegated pulsing of phosphor lights and signs, stone mites, conduit worms, and other scavengers flourished on technological detritus. Duracrete slugs blindly masticated their way through rubble. Hawk-bats built nest near power converters to keep their eggs warm. Armored rats and spider-roaches scuttled and hunted through piles of trash two stories high. And millions of other species of opportunistic and parasitic organisms, from single-celled animalcules all the way up to those self-aware enough to wish they weren’t, doggedly pursued their common quest for survival, little different from the struggles on a thousand different jungle worlds. Down here was where the jetsam of the galaxy, a motley collection of sentients dismissed by those above simply as “the underdwellers,” eked out lives of brutality and despair. It was merely a different kind of jungle, after all.
And where there’s a jungle, there are always those who hunt.

Lysle walked hurriedly through the colourful crowds that thronged the black markets. A layer of smoke and fog, a miasma of narcotics, alcohol and decaying lives thickened the air. He moved cautiously and stealthily through puddles of stuttering neon light. It wasn’t safe for him to be here. Only hours ago he had dragged a Black Sun crime lord by his teeth into Frida’s Spaceport Cantina before blasting a fist-sized hole through his skull. He slipped through crowds of various species—Bothans, Niktos, Twi’leks, and Humans—with few noticing him. A spice den opened up for him, in way of a concealed entrance. A thinly corridor stretched seemingly as far as the eye could see. Shady and less-than-honourable thugs rested themselves against the walls, murmuring to one another in intoxicated drawls. Orange luminescence shone between carved lommite, giving the wall the appearance of a thousand tiny lights that sparkled and shadowed as mysterious gangsters wandered past.

His eyes diverted down when a Rodian corpse was pulled by two bouldering men. He only hoped that the same fate wasn't held for him, but he knew that if it were, Sigourney wasn't smart enough to hold back. She would throw everything the Red Ravens had to demolish this place. That was why Lysle was the brains and she remained the gun. It was better that way, easier that way. As he wound his way along the halls, eyes averting towards his Nas-Tech Wrist-Mounted Datapad, he checked his current location and his end location. A tracking device of sorts to find ones way down in the hellish maze of the Undercity. The roof was suddenly replaced not by solid permacrete but grates that let light burst down from above. He felt a trickle of water drip onto his shoulder. He looked up, to see clueless citizens walking along the grated ceiling, unaware of what was below. Someone approached, "This way," they said.

He was brought through a set of doors, opening to a larger room. The main parlour with a great wooden table resting before a monstrous piece of furniture that was part chair and part throne. Scented candles welcomed his senses, a pleasant diversion from the smog that filled the world. Smoky trails wafted towards the ceiling and out between the grates. Lysle's steeled eyes took particular note of the blood on the floor, and Blitz cleaning it off his bat. The Rodian, he thought. He began to pack up the spices when Lysle intervened, "What did you want, Blitz?" His voice was reedy and taut. He didn't want to be on Nar Shaddaa any longer than need be, and Blizt was delaying him.

[member="Blitz"]

 

[Blitz]

Call it gossip, call it slander, and call it liable if it was printed - whatever the case may be; word was spreading. Key contacts within the various amalgam of organized crime syndicates that made up the whole of the Black Sun had been hearing the chatter and passing it along. What were they called again? The Crimson Canarys, Scarlet Shriek-hawks, or Maroon Mookas? No - far more simple than that, simple and direct. The Red Ravens. A new brand of crime that was fostering itself on the Fringe had started to take a shine to the Sun's operation. Unfortunately shine was a very inopportune word, as their disagreements with the higher ups on the pay scale had caused some considerable dissolving of any would-be pact of peace. They had trickled onto the radar at first, and built up a healthy bit of steam in their proverbial wake -- that coupled with the current friction had led to some interest on the part of the Spice King. Amaul Jaris was not a man to get heavily involved in the politics of it all - which is why he technically didn't run a business; instead he managed a family. Loyalty like precious silver was tried in a furnace, and slowly but surely the dross ebbed off until nothing but pure devotion was achieved, finding a permanent place within the brotherhood. It was hard to find good help, it was even more rare to find family - and that made him different, and some would say, that made him dangerous.

"What do I want?" Blitz rephrased the question as the bat was slid to the right side of his makeshift throne, propped up to the side. The bat was only one of his arsenal, but Amaul wasn't generally a fighter type, he'd deal out his own swift justice when it came down to it, but it was the mind that he valued far more than the meat of muscle and fleshy sinew. "A great many things my man, always been a dreamer - riding the winds of imagination and design." His laid back tone coupled with a thick drawl wafted out before a sharp inhale of the custom stick between his lips sucked in the chemical cocktail he'd designed for his own personal cache. Dark digits gripped both sides of the the throne, drawing his stance to one inch shy of Lysle's stature and pacing to the right of his desk. From the corner of the wood-grain surface a miniature flask was drawn into his fingerless glove grip. "Presently though - I had designs to take a peak at the man behind the curtain." His smooth tones echoed slightly in the cavernous cave-like dwelling in which they found themselves. An excitable beek-monkey with a curiously comical polka-dot tie around it's neck grasped the now unscrewed flask and took it to it's mouth rolling onto it's back to use all four limbs for stable drinking.

"Heard tell that some palaver upstairs didn't end on such forgiving terms. Wanted to get a source feed on that bit of intel - see where we stood, and they stood." While Lysle knew his street name - and he likewise, the men had never met to break bread, or even exchange an idle glance. Reputations though, they proceeded both - and while there could be some cause for concern on both ends, it was Amaul that had already known in gratuitous evidence that his wasn't rumor, it was solid and resolute. Blitz was somewhat of a team player - he'd help out from time to time, especially if it was of interest in the long run. His game was strategy, and it worked itself out in a variety of ways. The Galaxy was one to find profit it, and he had the goods and the means to delve into that credit-cow of income. The penchant for chemistry notwithstanding, he'd slowly worked his way from the obscurity of the shadows into a regular name in the movements of the spice trade proper. The picture before the far more well dressed businessman was one of eclectic chaos. Nothing matched, nothing seemed to work in concord with the other - but the sum of the parts was befitting the very unique and obviously laid back personality. Blitz wasn't lazy, he simply paced things out at their proper time, and he was rarely in a rush. From the tone of this suited appointment in his den had used, Lysle certainly had time on his mind.

Rounding the edge of the desk, and planting himself against the corner, dark digits plucked the stick from his mouth while a stream of golden hued smoke poured from his nostrils and into the air. Beneath the dark tint of his currently inactive digital shades, Amaul's emerald eyes fluttered closed for a moment reveling in the mind opening substance that he was currently in the thralls of. Amaul was a collected addict, and he rarely showed signs of substance abuse, although he was certainly no stranger to the term. What he took though, it was a custom blend that had been engineered in painstaking fashion to rectify most addictive qualities or long term side effects. He was always on the cutting edge it seemed in the matters of chemical spice. The flavorful blends he sold though - those were for all sorts of levels in which one needed to gain release from. He knew how to run the game, learned it in short time by sheer observance and then put that brain to work in manufacturing blends never before seen in the history of the Galaxy itself.

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]

 

[Lysle of the Hydian Way]

Theme

​

Time was ticking for Lysle. The trickling of sand through an hourglass. Word would get around of the firefight between the Red Ravens and the Black Suns. A zany crew of insignificant lower-end crime bosses and their hired goons, a slave in comparison to a king, that was the value of their murder. But it wasn’t their worth that he was worried about, but the message it sent to the higher ups in the Suns. A fellow lord did not kill a slave without the purpose of provoking aggression from the slaves liege — and that is exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t the farmer whacking the wasps nest, rather, he punched it. And it was a big nest. He stood there, awaiting for Blitz, and a part of him knew he shouldn’t be here. But he wasn’t going to back down and hide in safety either. He wanted him to know he wasn’t afraid. No, he was confident, even when he found himself surrounded by the very wolves he was provoking. A reminder of his heritage from Kesh. It was not technology that ruled the land, but nature. A planet largely untouched. Primitive in consideration to the galactic technological standard. He knew the rules and the laws of nature. Do or die. Prey or predator. There was a food chain, and he was climbing his way up. Lysle watched Blitz carefully, wondering who was the prey, and who the predator.

“What do I want?” Blitz spoke, the very words oozing out from his full lips. Lysle kept his eyes on the bat, like a hawk on his prey, calculating how it would react. Even the birds of prey had reason to fear that which they hunted; the smallest of creatures are capable of great feats for the desire and instinctual nature of survival. And Blitz was not the smallest, and it gave Lysle all the more reason to be wary. This was not his jungle, and these were birds of prey themselves. Then Blitz cut the silence, like a knife through butter. The tension in the room levelled for a moment. His words spilled into the room, but it wasn’t the words Lysle came here to listen too. He said with a degree of callous, “You know what I’m talking about Blitz, let’s cut to the chase.” Lysle felt the temptation to furl his arms across his chest as the man stood closer. He smelt the fumes of the strange stick he sucked from. Grey eyes meeting the dark, cold, unforgiving lenses that sat on the bridge of his nose. Something stirred beside him, and he spied a peculiar creature he had never the pleasure of seeing before. It rolled over and began to drink a questionable substance, and Lysle realised he was distracted. He turned back to Blitz, “Well, you’ve taken your peak at the man behind the curtain.”

He revealed his true reasons, and Lysle couldn’t put a finger on Blitz. He puzzled over him, he knew about the firefight, and Lysle wasn’t yet with a pair of broken knees and a slug through his chest. A good sign, but that didn’t mean Blitz was considering the Ravens as an ally. He had been in the Black Suns too long, he was in too deep. Lysle couldn’t pull him out even if he tried. Too bad, it was a shame. Wasted talent would be washed away as the tides drew back. Lysle could only assume that he was investigating the firefight, it was the safest bet. He didn’t want to overextend his reach, or his prior thoughts may come to fruition. “What bird whispered in your ear spoke the gospel truth, friend. I wasn’t very forgiving. Where we stand isn’t up to me, Blitz. But I didn’t shoot up your junkies.” He chose to leave out the words; not yet. The Red Ravens were small, it was true, they were new, and that was well known, but they were established, their growth was exponential, and the credits were pouring in as fast as a bursting dam. Companies were sprouting up throughout the fringes of Hutt Space. Casino’s began to appear on distant worlds such as Antecedent, large stockpiles and warehouses propping up in the inhospitable Colluctari Nebula. All connected to one man; Lysle Rigger.

Lysle wasn’t a very reflective person. He was all brains and constant, consistent thought. A calculating mind that didn’t cease to judge and determine outcomes. As mathematical in thought as a Givin, and as quick-witted as a Columi. Much like them; he seemed to always be three steps ahead. It was why he was so efficient in the business - at least that is what he considered it. He didn’t know how to come up with a new formula of spice, he didn’t know how to design new weapons. He didn’t know much, but he was a good judge of character and chances. And a whole lot of luck.

[member="Blitz"]

 

[Blitz]

Like a game of intergalactic commlink, you never really could trust the tail end of the receiving line to harvest the truth of things. The story would get mangled, twisted, and broken. There were just too many renditions floating through space reaching his careful scrutiny. Normally peeling the meat from the bones to source out the actual facts from vain and empty gossip or the extravagance of hype was a marginal task. This incident however had reached far too many willing mouths for the half-breed to suss out the actual events in question. What he did know was when and where, but as far as to who was involved, only the generalities were able to be corroborated. Blitz did not operate on the rumor mill or the gossip train, he dealt in what was known, and didn't act until the immutable facts of the situation came together to unlock the puzzles and riddles that caked on every story juicy enough to warrant an audience. If the actions of what was still hearsay had rattled the cage of this drug lord, he wasn't showing it, and that much was quite normal given his temperament.

"You are in quite a rush, my man. I'd expect paranoia is hampering your good time." Jaris let his easy drawl waft out in smooth honey-tinged waves of sound while he absently adjusted the scarf on his neck. The dual lenses of his digital shades showed the same pictogram on each, of a clock counting down, second by second. "I can see that you're a man of action, but perhaps a little to quick to the draw if we're speaking the same language." Replacing that custom stick between his lips, Blitz drew on the chemical spice again, inhaling it's sweet and therapeutic aroma. Lazy wisps of smoke rising from the tip as embers burned down the channel that housed the chemical additives. Cherry glow grew and ebbed with each suction draw. "You'll start pulling a muscle if you keep looking over your shoulder that hard, and I suspect it'll come soon enough with the message you and yours just sent." From his exterior vest pocket, Blitz slipped out a metallic box, thin, and cool to the touch. Digits flipped back the lid to reveal four sticks of similar design to the one between his lips with one slot barren. Offering up his personal stache for something to take the edge off. "This should take that edge off." Whether or not he actually partook of the stick offered was inconsequential, because moments after the choice, Blitz hopped down from his table perch and started across the room.

"Sometime ago, the Suns took up a venture to expand our collective reach. Lonely little planet - but with the right touches it would have made a fine addition." Amaul said in a calm and peaceful tone while padding across the carpeted floor to a back-lit case where a sheet enveloped the structure. "Assassins were known to lurk about those parts, doing contracts for those uppity little bastards that tried to reign them to their sway." He obviously didn't think it was a worthy cause by his tone. The sheet was pulled away to reveal a host of black scorpion like creatures that skittered back and forth in a playground especially designed for their needs. "The venom that tips the barbs of these spor crawlers were their pride and joy." He explained while tapping his finger on the glass lightly to draw some attention from the insects. Standing upright and turning, he took another long drag of the substance between his lips. Exhaling almost immediately the previous draw. "They're prone to nesting, and they lay their eggs in the victims that they kill." A slow wry smile worked across the half-breed's face letting Lysle take a good look at the creatures.

"You not only disturbed the nest - you intended to jump neck deep into the fray and start showing off." His tone dropped, almost in a disapproving manner. "The whispers heard in the wind say that you're a thinker - a planner even." He offered a shrug before another puff of smoke traced out his nostrils giving semblance to the term he liked to call 'chasing the dragon'. "The best laid plans..." Trailing off because at best this man knew the rest of that mantra. "You're right though - you didn't disturb my clients, and you probably had good enough reason to muss up the faces of those that were lounging around in your company." Another shrug was offered before he moved back to his side of the desk, drawing out what looked to be some sort of parcel, setting it on the desk. A layer of fine cord tucked around the box giving homage to a plainly wrapped life-day gift. "So here's my offer, a once in a lifetime grant of passage." Three digits pressed to the box and slid it across the desk before he pulled out another item, this time a blaster held in both hands and then placed against the table, with the barrel pointed at Lysle. "That is if you're brave enough to make the right choice."

Inside the box, a single black coin with an etched image of a spor crawler, and a single data-chip, loaded with a secure account that would be the recipient of all of Lysle's spice and drug profits should he go into partnership and gain immunity from that of Blitz's own family. Rigger had disturbed a nest, one that while Blitz was affiliated, it wasn't yet a direct threat. This was to ensure there wouldn't be, and afford him some measure of space to move unabated. However, a refusal of such a deal was going to be seen as open hunting season. If however he went for the blaster, it was certainly a sign of aggression, and if he was brazen enough to do what he did in the casino - he might think he could pull it off again within Blitz's den.

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]

 

[Lysle of the Hydian Way]

Theme

There were those at the bottom of the litter, and those at the top. People like Isaac, Colap, Lenix and the familiar faces that showed themselves at Lysle's private booth were the ones that were the top dogs in the Red Ravens. Then there were the other guys, the nameless and faceless, the ones he couldn't remember and didn't care too either. They knew what type of business this was, they all knew. It was a business of credits. You did what you were told, and you got paid well. You didn't do it, and you would find yourself at the bottom of a creek. Whoever was kidding themselves that the criminal underworld could do good, and the rulers could be good, were the weak links. He knew people who were like that. It was a vicious world, and an unforgiving business. You either stood your ground and earned it big time, or you lost more than just a few credits. It was just the same with the Ravens. You did good, you respected Lysle, Sigourney and the business, and you'd make friends that could last a lifetime. Crossed them, and you would find enemies that never forget, and never forgive.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say paranoia, but a healthy dose of caution,” Lysle Rigger remarked. By way of tone and body language, he wasn’t relaxed. He was anxious. Then he saw Blitz’ shades begin to display a clock counting down. Lysle smirked. “It’s not time itself that has me worried, Blitz. It’s what people can do in that time.” One of the same thing. Different words, same meaning. It was a self-consolation as to his reasoning for saying it. Calm himself with quick words of reassurance. “If your words were received as mean’t to be,” he said slowly with due care, “It’s usually the man with the quicker draw who wins.” Lysle remained stoic in stance, unmoving and unwavering in his appearance. Apart from the faint hints of his anxious nature to leave, he was otherwise emotionless. His voice as similarly dead as his expressions. One must investigate closely to notice the clues, and Blitz had already discovered them. “A message well deserved, Blitz. The Black Suns are dying. Sure the government keeps on running, but the government can run without the Suns — as they did before they arrived. I’ll be blunt. The Sun boys haven’t been working the streets, and the ones who have are as rare as a Duinuogwuin dragon. It’s time someone stepped up to the plate.” Grey eyes followed the equally grey metallic box that housed Blitz personal stache. He was suspicious, that much could be read by the faint twitch of his brows. He declined the offer, he didn’t know what was in them. He could become an addict, or poisoned. He wasn’t running a risk. Not now. Then again, this entire meeting was a risk.

Lysle trailed his movements, ears as attentive as a waiter. As Blitz moved to a back-lit case, Lysle decided to move. He remained close to him, his footsteps light, gentle and careful. If one noticed, he was walking on the literal toes of his feet. A habit he developed as a child, and one he couldn’t shake when he was being guarded and alert. As a young teenager, Lysle would sneak through the house at night, walking on the tips of his toes so as to not awake his father or mother, lest he be scolded. For years he had done it, and now he subconsciously did it — unaware that he was actually doing it. The sheet was gripped and viciously thrown away from the case, revealing a bed of black scorpions. He stopped walking, and remained still. He moved to interrupt, to give his own opinion but deemed it unwise as yet. He felt that Blitz had more to say, so he waited. His eyes grudgingly watched the scorpions turned at the tapping of the glass. Oh how he hated these type of stories, more-so he hated these arachnida.

His waiting paid off, and Blitz began churning out the words like the smoke from his lips. As Blitz moved to his desk, Lysle intervened before his offer could yet be made. “You could say that Blitz, but while those scorpions might send my skin crawling and a shiver down my spine. The scorpion that has become fat and gluttonous with inactivity and lack of exercise does not worry me. I haven’t been without an eye to the sun, and an ear to the ground. I know in your far-off den you might be rippling with deals, meetings and a nice flow of income, but the halls of the Black Sun echo with emptiness. Their glass cage of scorpions is empty. The only cage I need fear is yours, and even then, as we’ve both said. No harm, no foul on both our parts.” Blitz withdrew the parcel, resting it on his desk. For some it may resemble a simply wrapped life-day gift, but to Lysle it was well wrapped. His childhood never involved these things, and it was a tiny curiosity for him to see them. Next was the blaster, and the anxiety that swam in the recesses of his stomach flared.

Thick fingers reached across the desk. The room grew eerily quiet. A faint tick as Lysle propped the lid open and upwards. A coin engraved with the same scorpions seen in the glass cage, alongside a solitary data-chip. He was fairly sure what this meant, and he didn’t like it. Lysle held nigh ultimate power among the Red Ravens, and he was well respected, but even some things had to go through the Crime Lady herself; Sigourney Xanthius. This was one of them. But given current circumstances, he was sure forgiveness would be easier than permission. He closed the case, and took a thoughtful look into Blitz’ digital shades. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s settle this old school; shockboxing. You nominate your best fighter, or heck, yourself, and if I win. I’ll accept your deal, but you leave the Suns, and work in conjunction with me. You won’t be a lesser. You’ll be afforded the same respect as the Ravens give to me. You win, and you get exactly what you want. It’s a win-win situation, Blitz. Deny, and we both lose.” Lysle picked up the parcel, clutching it in his left hand as he asked, "You wanna fight?"


[member="Blitz"]

 

[Blitz]

It was often asked about this eccentric drug trafficking crime lord of what made him so inherently dangerous. Was it the muscle that he kept around as loyal brothers and sisters of his family? Perhaps the brutal efficiency that he dispensed his own brand of due justice with. Further even speculation had risen that it was his various and sundry means of taking you out when you least expected it; spiked drugs, poisoned darts, or the ever classic and favorite of the half-breed, a durasteel bat upside your head. In all of these assumptions were merits of truth, yet not the most deadly. It was that implacable calm that rested over his visage, and his slouched almost aloof posture that showed itself in a manner of disarming trust. It was the face that should concern you, some would say, the face that radiated no malice or vile intent, but was a mask to the working mind of a cold hearted killer. In all our lives there is a greater danger, even more terrifying for being unexpected. Not the killer we fear, but the killer we trust.

A choice presented on his dark wooden desk - the choice between an alliance and strife sat inches apart. The blaster represented a world of trouble; something that would inevitably escalate beyond this room if his hand touched metal. The other, the proverbial olive branch -- with a twist. Blitz was not daft in that he'd simply take up partnership with a crew so willing to act with the aggression of a kath hound at the slightest whiff that prey was to be had. He also didn't have the mind to reject what Lysle had said. He called the Suns out for their seeming inability to marshal their member base into formidable action. What Rigger may have failed to realize though is that the Suns were never huge on cooperation within their ranks. They were an empire of criminal activity, and most of the crime lords within the Suns themselves operated with almost complete autonomy. So long as they weren't trying to dissolve the organization's payroll, or livelihood, they had free reign. While Lysle weighed the options before him, Blitz's shoulders sunk into the comfort of his would-be throne, his fingers steepled together before the bridge of his nose. Those digital shades held no image or dancing pixels to give an inkling to his darkened thoughts. Even the Force wouldn't help unlock those secrets - Blitz's mind was his own. Serpentine movements of golden smoke rose in lazy curls from the end of his custom deathstick while the decision of the wrapped gift was plucked up.

A counter offer was not unexpected, rarely would any businessman worth his salt take the immediate face value contract handed to him. There was a dance to be done, a game to be played that wove it's history through the ages. Amaul was no stranger to the art of the deal - as he had made many ones in the past. The term that he tossed out also no stranger to the half-breed. No, he wasn't one of the sport, and would likely fair very poorly in the ring, but that was not his game, nor was it his wish to participate. A slow devilish smirk rose from the corners of his mouth before a low throaty chuckle crept from the man's vocals. It would be hard to place as an insult, or perhaps it just delighted the crime lord a bit too much to contain. Drawing his digits into the palm of his counterpart, each knuckle was slowly cracked with audible pops in slow succession. He was measuring the offer, weighing the outcome, and going through a few other dozen scenarios several steps in advance within the space of silence while Lysle awaited his reply.

"I don't fight." Blitz said in a matter of fact statement, that might cause someone less savvy to his reputation to loft a curious brow. "That implies an actual contest - implies that both parties have something of sure footing." A simple shake of his head to signify that it was not something he was interested in doing. "If you want to become an opponent Mister Rigger - I assure you the odds will not be ever in your favor." It wasn't a threat, it was a promise, one he knew how to make good on. "I am however not without alternative methods." The calm rationale of Blitz contained on his face never wavered as he drew up the datapad that was situated next to him. "I do not do business with those I see that squander opportunity, and fail to meet expectations. It's bad for business, ya dig?" The rhetoric easily laced within his pseudo-question. "I propose a different kind of challenge, and since you are the one wearing the burden of proof - I'd like to see how well you perform in other arenas." Rising then from the chair, with the datapad clasped in his hand, he slowly took the flask away from Kreig and slid the cap back on, allowing the beek monkey to lazily trace circles in the air. "You already know a bit about what I'm capable of, but as far as I can gather, you're able to dispose of a few thugs with a crew. I have a different target in mind. Someone a bit harder to take down; and someone none of my employ has been able to finish off. You do this, and we may just have the partnership you're seeking."

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]