Fandom Star Wars: We're in deep Sith (1x1 closed)

[Darth Seneca]

It was hard to tell if it was day or night under the smog and towering buildings. The lower levels of Nar Shaddaa were not the prettiest -- but they were certainly the most dangerous.

A backdoor leading to a sparsely populated alley opened, the creak of the rust scraped off drowned by the rhythm of thunderous bass bringing some highly energetic electronic music to life. A slender figure walked through, keeping her weapons hidden by her clothes. The colors of nearby bright signs reflecting off the only part of her that was visible. Her eyes.

Hazel hues surrounded by a dark and chalky paint now turned to the right where the ebb and flow of a busy market strip carried on without a hitch. She made her way into the crowd, disappearing in the waves made up of many shapes, sizes and races, clad in a black tunic with patterns of red over the belt. Comfortable pants and padded boots served to further strengthen a joyful stride.

With a mask and a hood to conceal her identity, the woman forgot the rest of the galaxy for a while and perused some of the stalls and janky shops carelessly arranged and strewn about. Not that anybody seemed to care. Hazards were not an excuse to stop business.

Further into the scum she went, her head bopping along to the beat of the song playing through a hidden earpiece. And while she seamlessly surfed the enthusiastic crowds, she could not get rid of the poise and grace she had so diligently achieved. Not even here in the slum would the noble and elegant Sith in her be subdued.

A quiet confidence was her constant companion. Especially when she took a turn to the left, going past a few brothels and a questionable scrap metal dump. She managed to stay out of trouble, fighting the temptation to steal a few things here and there. Instead, she focused on enjoying the moment, committing details to memory such as the despairing sadness in the eyes of a passing Twi’lek slave and the sharp greed in a toothy grin from a Zabrak in one of the stalls.

And then she stopped. Right in the middle of the narrow street. Others walked around her. Yet she remained firmly in place as she took a slow and thorough study of her surroundings with some slight sense of suspicion. Of caution. And a little bit of delight.

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

Through the smog, the artificial overcast began to rain an acidic and rough liquid upon the dense mass of people. The rattling of authoritative chains pulling slaves into their abusive dens, the forgotten and dirty poor folk opening their mouths and maws and holding their heads rigid towards the sky, feeling their tongues burn and bleed, the tainted h2o being their only inexpensive source of sustenance. Water was sold by the bottle down here, for exorbitant prices. Sentient rights were a luxury down here in this civilized little hellscape.

A hell Attar-Uzzin was all too familiar with.

A black, shredded cloak clung over his body, repelling the stinging rain above him. His large size and intimidating air made grovelling families flee, and pitiful business owners bare their arms over their most probably stolen goods like cornered predators. A small human child dashed through the streets, being tossed around by busy thugs and equally distressed citizens, carrying a small token of food.

The child rushed for cover, but ran into the cloaked figure by mistake, falling on his rear and dropping the small shreds of food he had stolen from a market blocks away.
His food was now covered in mud and whatever disgusting debris had been left on the ground. Teary eyed, and despite the foods inedibility, the boy scrambled for the loose fruits and started to apologize profusely.

"I'm sorry sir!!"
Many scars had wasted the skin on the boys pale arms.

"I'm sorry sir!"
The boy's mistreated body burned under the rain. A dark hand moved for the boy's head.

"I'm... Sorry."

The boy felt a gentle palm rest on his forehead. His hair was being rubbed slowly, which dusted away the solid mud that coated his blonde locks.
"... Looks like I made you drop something. I apologize. Here."

Attar circled around the boy, dropping a small bag behind him in his wake. The boy slowly picked up the heavy bag, and realized it was filled to the brim with credit chips. Enough to feed him and his family for years.

The boy kept quiet. His loud mouth caused pain for him down here in the slums for years. He instead smiled, keeping the generosity close to his heart and locked tightly behind his lips. He nodded and fled, with the sounds of angry marketplace gangsters following his trail a block down from Attar.

The cloaked figure was approaching the centre of the street, listening to the loud yelling approach, with his milky white eyes adjusting to find another ambiguous figure in front of him.
He could only stand, feeling an alien intensity between them both. Strangers in a world of lust and greed.

 

[Darth Seneca]

The music coming through Sihde’s earpiece faded into silence just as a drop of acidic rain fell on the top of her head. The next hissed over a polished and painted nail just barely outside the protective layers of her clothes.

This hand curled and hid beneath a deceptively wide and flowy sleeve. And that was when Sihde first spotted the running child framed within the masses of the desperate and filthy. Her gaze followed him until he collided against Attar. A familiar scene from a different life. On the pair it remained throughout their exchange.

There, beneath the billow of treacherous rain, Sihde remained. As still as a statue. Most of her features were kept hidden from the world. All save for one. There was nothing to conceal the spark of surprise within a slightly narrowed gaze. Pain was expected to rear its heinous head. Instead, an act of kindness and compassion was witnessed. Sihde’s heart fluttered for a tiny beat. This flutter caused some uncomfortable uncertainty within her, but there was one thing the woman was quite certain of.

“Gross…” Sihde muttered under her breath while the lucky boy was making his escape.

Sihde was silent again by the time this unknown cloaked figure intensely stood before her. Methodically, she took inventory of his clothing, visible weaponry and physique from enough of a distance that she was not forced to tilt her head back in order to meet his gaze when finished.

With all of her mental notes taken down to be analyzed, the woman smiled beneath a textured mask. Her amusement made it all the way to the corners of hazel eyes as they began to turn, searching for the source of the increasingly loud yelling.

“Hmph.” Sihde began with nothing but a sound of disgust before her attention returned to the cloaked figure.

“What’s next? Getting the hounds off his back?” The question rang with a hint of mockery and a heavy hand of Imperial smugness. As if pulled straight out of the dreary mountains of snobbish and rainy Kaas City.

Sihde stepped around the cloaked figure, keeping the same distance between them, until the approaching mad thugs were behind. The woman took a step back. Then another.

“Or shall we simply bear witness to what kind of fortune he finds down his road -- the safety of his home and loved ones or their-” Sihde gently jerked her chin to the side and over her shoulder, towards the angry thugs who were about to reach them. “-pummeling fists bringing the eternal dusk.” She playfully continued as one of her hands moved underneath the back of her tunic, hidden by the short cloak that provided her hood.

Whatever reaction or answer was of little consequence when her mind was already made up. The moment one of the thugs was finally within her reach, Sihde struck fast and hard. Her arm swung up from below and fully extended. This caused the baton now firmly grasped in her hand to collide with the face of one of the angry thugs as he tried to run by. However, this would not be her argument.

Immediately after he stumbled to the ground, Sihde feigned ignorance by appearing to be startled.

“Oh, dear! My deepest apologies. I was trying to show off my new stick you see…” She spoke in her sweetest tone.

His companions did not look convinced. Sihde shook her head and held out her free hand, attempting to help him up with a friendly gesture. He was too busy holding on to his broken nose, blood dripping through shaky fingers.

Seething with anger, the thugs glared at Sihde. But when it was time to glare at Attar, the malice in their eyes lost some edge to the fear he inspired. One of them had his hand on a gun while the other kept his good punching fist locked and loaded. From one hooded figure to the other they looked, as if debating their chances.

Sihde on the other hand, quietly snickered. “You should get that looked at before your nose rots off.” The woman casually taunted, feeling another sting from the rain hitting one of her hands.

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

Like from a grainy movie flick from time's yonder, the two had found themselves in the shiny boots of a cowboy's stand-off.
The rain threatened to tear at their hoods which provided their much needed anonymity. Attar pursed his lips in disappointment - the flippant woman in front of him making the situation much more complex then it needed to be.

"Maybe if I just mind my own business, they'll think she's that kid's mother or something."
Attar wasn't afraid of confrontation, he was just over the constant conflict that seemed to follow him like bad karma. Unlike the valiant and pure hearted jedi, he wasn't above letting this woman face her own consequences. He tried to steer himself away from the danger, pivoting himself on one foot in the other direction - right into the face of a..

--A god damn flesh raider.
Its hammerhead eye stems were lacerated and sinewy, with a large, constantly beeping collar wrapped around its neck which was prominent besides the grey shredded tarps it wore as clothing, like a potato sack around its body. It stood at about his height, while still overshadowing Attar's thin figure with the creature's massive bulk. Another pale-skinned, bald headed gangster with small round-lensed glasses, clad in a flashy black jacket had the beast at gun-point, or should it be said, button point.. The remote device in this man's hand was probably a detonator.

"Whoa-hey there big guy.. I saw that 'lil baggy you dropped for our prey just then."
The man fiddled with his glasses, which seemed to warp in a convex shape like a telescope. "I've got good eyes on me, even on rainy days like this."

The man leered at Sihde. "You the kids parents or something? You make a good couple... All-" He'd mockingly make jazz hands at the two. "--incognito, like super spy twins, heh..."

"Annnyyyway.. That kid stole our... Eh... Essential services."
Food was worth more than precious minerals down here. Of course this man would've sent his whole entourage on the hunt, even if it was just for a small hungry boy.

"You've stolen a good chunk of our precious time." He'd glance down at his wrist. There was no watch there - he just liked using his body language to make a point.

"Time is a valuable resource down here..."
The thug that was dropped by Sihde recently silently dove deep into his pocket for something... A pocket knife, with its rusted shine gleaming for a split-second.

---

[Music, for your immersion...]

---

"Hopefully you have the credits to make up for that lost time... Or enough blood in your body to compensate."
The thug quickly picked himself off the ground and rushed Sihde with the small knife, hoping to avenge the former stability of his nose.

Paces in front of her, where the Attar and the flesh raider stood, the air shifted. Gravity slowly began to contort, subtly, underneath Attar's cloak...

A quick fist collided with one of the flesh raider's eyes, blowing it right off like a high caliber bullet hitting a tree branch. It roared with pain and bloodthirsty anger, the pale handler being pushed behind his pet. His detonator was destroyed... But how?

This was war...

 

[Darth Seneca]

The helping hand went ignored and soon retreated to the safety of cozy sleeves. However, there was not enough fabric to hide the increasingly hostile atmosphere that stung through the air. The innocent huddled behind whatever pieces of furniture or buildings they could find in the already packed corners of this previously busy street.

“Good deeds and punishment, eh?” Sihde quietly mused, keeping an eye on the fallen thug until she was spoken to. The leering gangster behind Attar was given a quick study as she leaned around a figure as cloaked as her own before Sihde turned back to the thugs.

“I am just passing through.” was Sihde’s soft response. Her baton spun until it ran parallel to her forearm, extending over the elbow. A thumb traced over the handle of her baton, finding the appropriate button but not pushing it just yet.

Calmly, she waited and listened to the handler. The thrill of combat threatened to make this most disciplined of demeanors come undone. Sadistic tendencies took a backseat to functionality and practicality.

A quick headcount and a reminder of where her possible exit points were located came with a deep and slowly drawn breath. Mister Happy Fists seemed reluctant to join the fight, standing his ground a pace and a half closer than the one with a pistol who had already done away with the strap of his holster, fingers twitching by his side. And then there was the variable of her super spy twin to consider…

Sihde’s patience was rewarded when the thug rushed her with a small knife after talk of credits and blood.

The shift in gravity that came from Attar, a curious occurrence that registered and was put in the backburner, was joined by one of her own. The mud and water that collected on the ground between them rose an inch or so only to be pushed together at the center. There came a click from her baton. Sihde took off. Fast. Enough to blur the sudden openings that appeared down the length of her beating stick.

Still, there was a great deal of restraint coming from Sihde as she did her best to keep her presence as contained as possible.

She met the thug in a head-to-head rush and swung the baton wielding arm. Because she held back just enough to not spook the locals into seeing her for the Sith that she was, precision was the most important thing.

Sihde rolled the dice…

… and won. The knife met its mark -- wedged in one of the openings and trapping his weapon. She quickly twisted her wrist and pried the small blade from his hand. Her body followed suit with its own twist. She narrowly avoided an elbow to one side of her face, the other about to be guarded with the coil of her free arm. The side of his head was not so lucky. The baton carried on with its fluid motion until the tip met the thug’s temple with a slight, yet non-lethal, crunch.

K.O.

The second thug to his right had already drawn his pistol, taking aim at Sihde -- but the third at his left beat him to the punch. Literally.

Mister Happy Fists tried to deliver a blow to her jaw only to be met with bicep and forearm. It was still enough to send the woman stumbling… right into the one who would rather shoot her. Startled and taken aback by the apparent force behind Happy Feet’s punch, the thug carelessly fired. The shot grazed Sihde’s shoulder just before she crashed into him.

Sihde took advantage of the momentary confusion during her theatrics and knocked the pistol from the thug’s hand during a controlled descent from which she seamlessly recovered. On a knee she landed, facing the pair and taking aim.

The shot that was fired sent Happy Fists to the ground, having met its mark on his knee. Sihde pushed from the ground and stood with a baton in one hand and a pistol in the other. It was aimed at its previous owner.

He snarled at Sihde who now calmly put the baton away beneath her short cloak. It was replaced with a small bag that jingled. A bag she threw at the handler of a one-eyed flesh raider. It was a large palm sized bag of credits… and a backup plan.

“Take it. Cut your losses and go. I have things to do.” Sihde softly spoke, malicious hazel eyes turning to Attar. What was once in the backburner had moved on to the top list of current priorities.

“Isn’t that right, sugar bear?” she playfully asked, keeping the gun trained on one of the thugs while the other sat on the filthy ground, wailing in pain as the rain found his new wound.

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

Attar let out a long-drawn out breathe. This doesn't look too good.

The pale man gulped and dropped the crumbled detonator onto the ground. He'd lift up his arms and start desperately waving over his outmatched team.
"Alright chick.. I'm more than happy to take your bribe. In these parts y'need to keep your pride aside if you wanna live with your brain in-tact, right?" He chuckled nervously, making a reference to his downed teammate, which was probably going to forget this whole ordeal happened once he's awoken.

The other two gangsters put up their hands up as well and began to slowly side-step around Sihde, carefully spying the gun trained on them and keeping a healthy distance away.
"Hey.. pick up knuckles over here and let's get the hell out of-"

"GGRRRAAAAHHHH!"

Oh yeah... The Flesh Raider.

Being shackled for so long would leave any creature with a thirst for revenge. Ignoring the fatal damage to one of its eyes, it decided to lunge in the other direction away from Attar towards the pale man that once kept it in chastity. It muscled its claw through the leader's fragile flesh, and began battering his head in with its other free hand. The thugs that were previously in the middle of picking up their unconscious friend dropped his limp body into the mud and started running for their lives.

The Flesh Raider roared in triumph, making the residents and pedestrians cower and begin running themselves, leaving their market stalls unguarded and the streets near empty.

After emptying out all its rage on the bloodied corpse of the former gang leader, pummelling the rest of him into a red mush, it slowly turned its single blood-shot eye to gaze at both Attar and Sihde. It nearly swiped the top of Attar's body clean off his legs, but he had already dashed out of the way, back-stepping a great leap next to Sihde.

The powerful blast he had unleashed on the beast's eye was simply a fluke. He had to get close in order to deal that much damage again, but it was simply too dangerous for the amount of handicaps he was putting on himself for the sake of remaining incognito.

"A dense concentration of force energy in one spot, then expanding it suddenly as it enters my target's body..."

"Yeah. I can't afford to use Force Grenade again."

He leered at Sihde. He wasn't going to reveal anymore of his precious secrets to her. He had an inkling her and those she associated with would have a bone to pick with him for his.. abilities.

It was the same story time and time again, without fail. Attar didn't subscribe to the warped sense of authoritarian justice the jedi held, nor the chaos and domination the sith partook in.

He just wanted a quiet life. He wanted to live for his own reasons.

"You started this, so you can go kill it. I'll watch back here." He smirked uncharacteristically.
But he was simply curious now. What will she do next?

 

[Darth Seneca]

The thought of ridding the whole street of their kneecaps did cross her mind. A morbid musing for the future. Today would be another story -- or so was her forecast. With scattered showers of broken noses and plenty of bruises.

But as the thugs began their retreat, Sihde lowered the pistol until it pointed to the ground. She would have kept her careful gaze on them were it not for the sudden burst of anger and wrath.

She watched the tearing of flesh with righteous fury, entranced by the raw display of a violent will. The danger it posed to them and the people around them nagged her. A dangerous beast was beautiful to look at so long as it was not coming for you.

And then the surviving eye turned to Attar.

A switch flipped, transforming her genuine admiration into a cold and calculating focus in the blink of an eye. There were too many questions Sihde wanted to ask him. Her grip on the pistol tightened with intent as Attar leapt to her side.

“I’d be delighted.” Sihde quipped just before she took steady aim and unloaded several bolts into the flesh raider as it charged towards them. With a gargled and whimpering noise, the creature fell forward. Carried on by the motion, its head managed to land on one of her boots, for Sihde did not budge an inch.

After a brief moment of silence, a hidden smile formed. “That takes care of that. I don’t usually grant such favors to strangers.” Sihde began, amusement evident in her smug tone. She wiped the blood and guts on her boots clean with the flesh raider’s potato sack garments and then moved on to pick up the small bag filled with credits and one very special device.

“It’s not like it was mad at me.” Sihde put the bag away. In the process, a flash of metal could be seen over the hip beneath her short cloak and tunic.

She also did away with the pistol, tossing it into an empty corner of the street for whatever vultures may come soon.

Sihde stepped to Attar, coming to stand directly before him and deliberately juuuust out of what she thought his reach would be.

“I am willing to accept a few drinks over some conversation as payment.” The woman calmly stated. "I promise not to hit anyone for the duration of this proposal."

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

"A favour? That was more of a formality. You started it, so you get to end it. It's simple."
He peered down at the body that bled intensely through the many holes riddling its torso.
"It would've been mad the moment I got within its swatting distance."

---

...
Attar glanced to the left.

Then to the right.

His tongue rolled idly inside of his mouth - he contemplated Sihde's offer in silence for about 10 seconds and kicked at a puddle on the floor like a bored child.

"... Aight."
Bulging shapes tented inside of his cloak around waist height - Attar was searching for something in his pockets, around his belt... His many hands grasping for something with half a mind guiding him.

"Uuuhh..." He pulled out a small leather bag from his drapes after another 10 seconds of rummaging. He took a look inside, and starting counting silently under his breath. "Yeah, I should be good for it.. Not much of a drinker though." Instead, he pulled out a thickly rolled cigarra, which he shielded from the rain underneath his body. "I hope you don't mind me smoking."

He started to tread past Sihde without warning, turning his head back for a quick sentence. "Are you local? There's a Cantina down here if you haven't been there already. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall sort of place. I don't like the popular one northside from here. It's really trashy."

 

[Darth Seneca]

"No, I am not." She softly responded as she followed Attar. “Nice to see I got the dress code right.”

Hazel hues focused on the street ahead, occasionally side-sweeping over any odd details and faces it managed to find with suspicion. As if she were giving the scene of the crime a study in case she needed to explain this to someone later. All of her findings were duly noted while she carried on her merry way.

“So long as I can get a hot cup of caff.”

Finally, a curious gaze lifted to the cloaked man with a subtle twitch over one of her painted eyes. "I assume you can afford that much at least. Or did you give it all away?" An empty hand dismissively waved in the space between them.

"Not that it matters. What matters is that we are here. Now. Enjoying a night out--" Sihde paused and looked around again. "--or is it day… People do know what sunshine looks like, right?" She looked ahead to Attar. “Do you?”

With the hiss of the rains still falling, Sihde did her best to catch some cover wherever she could, unwilling to take unnecessary damage to the fabrics shielding her from it all. Thankfully, the Cantina was not too far off.

Surprisingly, it was not as packed as she expected it to be. There were a handful of shady beings scattered across three groups, with some of the loners wedged against the precariously leaning walls decorated with reminders of previous bar brawls.

The bar itself was small and manned by an emerald green Rodian with dark eyes. He busied himself with working on an order. A musical band was noticeably absent -- but a record played somberly through a speaker hanging on for dear life from the uneven ceiling on which the rain pitter-pattered away.

“Hmph. I’ve seen worse.” Sihde softly murmured.

Dark eyes turned to Attar and Sihde when the bartender seized them up.

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

"Around these parts, adhering to a dress code is more of a luxury. A lot of clothing is self-made or stolen. People will reap the pants off your legs if they get you packed-in alone in an alley somewhere."

Attar was aware of Sihde's silent study of the area. Attar was far too familiar with his surroundings, which left him with a confidence that would eventually be the death of him.
"So long as I can get a hot cup of caff."
"Best they'd probably do is the instant kind. They'll probably spit in it too for such a poof order-" Attar replied, stone-faced. He wasn't taking a jab- he was incredibly serious. He tried ordering lunch there once and got a plate full of grated chopping-board clippings.

"Just order something alcoholic. I'm hoping you're not a lightweight, because they only serve contents of liver-killing proportions."
"That's why I only go there to smoke."

"I told you, I'm good for it. At least something for you - not that I was going to order anything anyway." He paused for a moment, and leered quickly at Sihde. "I knew that kid back then. His parents are incredibly ill, so he's constantly stealing stuff for them. I've watched him take many beatings during his exploits. I feel the galaxy owed him a little something..--

--and to be honest, I saw a little bit of him in me as well."

Attar looked at the disgusting smoke overhead, shielding his face from the skin-peeling rain with a pale hand.

"I've appreciated the sky on other planets, so it's not like its a hot commodity for myself. But the people here have probably gotten a glance every odd decade. The concept of a sky has a legendary status to it. The dregs around here treat it like a rich man's activity- sky watching, twice the glory to you if you got to watch a sunset." He pointed at the base of a large building as they walked past, which was heavily armed by shady and bulky security detail. The "top" of the building was clouded by the smog. "Only the wealthy get to witness the deep purple skies above, or even the incandescence of a setting sun."

---

The music softly played throughout the small bar. One of the regulars of the bar, a Trandoshan, and a veteran bounty hunter, barked at the bar owner to turn the music off with a slurred butchery of his native language. The owner simply garbled nonsense back, which seemed to intimidate the hardy ex-warrior into silence, or rather, giving him reason to pitifully plant his dishevelled face into the tops of his hands once more.

Attar hummed along to the music. The same, god-damn music that played. 24/7.

The population was sparse in this place, and the few that spent their time here hid away in corners behind tall-bodied seats and booths. Attar escorted Sihde to the very front, on some loose barstools that not only spun in place, but dangerously dipped forward, with enough weight being able to snap the stalk of the chair in half.

"Fec you cheap bastard"-- Attar said with a monotone drag in his accent. The Rodian grunted at him, his reactive rage withered from the amount of times Attar had already insulted his dingy sanctuary.

"Oh, also.. You finally get to squeeze some money out of me." Attar pinched his Cigarra between his lips and lit a small, capsule-shaped lighter at the tip, as he rolled the tip of his stick above the blaze in all possible directions to get it nice and evenly lit.

"My acquaintance here wants a cup of Caf." He gently nudged Sihde, as if to say "watch this..."

Fec slowly glared at Sihde. He perked one finger up, as if to say "one moment!" as he energetically disappeared into another room.
He appeared once more, slamming an unwashed grey cup down onto the stone counter - at least, it use to be grey, but was now decayed by alien mold and bacteria. Caf, black as night, was within the cup, but still containing minimal caffeinated qualities, generously topped with dirty diseased-ridden water to fill the rest of the space.

He spat in it, just as Attar predicted, while swirling the contents around with his unwashed finger, and Attar stared at the cup in unsurprised silence. He nodded his head in Sihde's direction.

"Your move, lady."

 

[Darth Seneca]

A sigh of resignation came at the incentive to order an alcoholic beverage instead of caff. She nodded and accepted that she would have to endure. Sihde was a woman of many passions and caff was a small one of many.

Her somber - and mostly hidden expression - was quick to transform, shifting to curiosity and disdain when Attar began to speak about the kid, effectively making an odd face beneath snug fabric.

“Gross.” Sihde quietly murmured, watching the smoke overhead and listening once more. Eyes were kept on the road and the people in it. Especially the large and fortified building they passed along the way.

As always, the woman diligently studied her surroundings. Especially the new ones.

This discipline persisted within the health hazard that was this cantina. Sihde looked from person to person, beginning with the Rodian and spreading out.

Next to Attar, the 5’7” woman hardly looked imposing. Instead, she carried a graceful bearing. Sihde barely had enough time to go through them all when a gentle nudge came from the side.

Sihde looked back to the Rodian and approached the bar counter where arms lazily crossed along the edge, hands disappearing beneath long sleeves. From there, she watched Fec work his enthusiastic magic.

The unappetizing cup served was greeted with a calm silence betrayed by the intensity of her persistant and quiet stare.

But like all things, this too had an end. It began with an amused snort. Sihde lowered the hood and pulled on the top of her mask. “Well then…” she began with a pompous huff, pushing back the long and wild auburn curls that sprung out from the cage that had been the headgear. What dim light reached would reveal olive skin and a bit of red in her hair.

“I do love a ‘first’.” A warm smile formed on painted lips. The amusement extended to elegant and noble features while chalky black still surrounded hazel eyes. Sihde stowed away her headgear beneath the short cloak, the hand lingering for a single beat.

“I will not apologize for my palate.” A hand moved to the cup. Pinched between her knuckles was a thick piece of credit. With it, Sihde moved the filthy cup across the bar and to the side. It stopped at the edge where it promptly tipped, spilling the contents by the bartender’s feet.

“Oh nooo~ There goes my drink.” She casually feigned sadness and pulled her hand back, dragging the credit along the counter along the way. One could almost hear the snickering in her mind. “My acquaintance will pay for that.” Sihde’s hand stopped on her edge of the counter where the credit chit gently tapped.

“And I will pay you to clean that up.” Sihde let go of the chit on the counter, her hand closing and moving to its side.

“To give me a clean glass of your least disappointing whiskey.” She put down another piece of thick credit.

“And of course...” A third and final one appeared. “... a thank you for your friendly service.”

She leaned against the counter and looked to Attar, nose wrinkling. “Is that the only kind you smoke?”

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

The Rodian's head throbbed with pulsating veins that bulged out of his forehead. He was about to dive over the counter to strangle the woman to death, but in the corner of his eye, he saw Attar cringe. "Ooohh... Fec, old friend. Wouldn't do that--" is what he would've said, but instead opting to let his eyes plead to him until he got the message. Fec did, and simply winced with another angry grunt before snatching the chits off the counter and wandering off to prepare a more appropriate drink.

Attar continued to suck on the end of his Cig like a pacifier - the smoke rolling around in his head, breathing out through the nostrils and whatever orifice would set it free. He gasped out the rest of the smoke slowly and released it in the direction opposite of Sihde.

"I smoke rashallo on Fridays."
He hooked the edge of a glass ash-tray with his finger and pulled it over, then began rolling the end of the Cigarra around the edge, making sure the ash flaked off evenly into the bowl.
"So what exactly would you like to converse about?"

He tapped the middle of his rollie to get anymore crap off the rim.

"Inviting a stranger out to a bar either insinuates you want information from me, or to court me-"
He raised a brow.

"If it's the latter, you're out of luck. I'm asexual."
"So if it's the former, it really depends on what you want to know."

"I'm a slow talker..."

---

Somewhere on the smuggler's planet, close by. . .

The screeching of jet fuel screamed past the lazy masses of people that marched forward to a city on the horizon. In a smoky wasteland with a hue like brimstone, dirt was kicked up violently by the advance of a tricked out speeder bike.

On top of it sat a droid. He was immediately distinct by the alien make of his body. His head was shaped like a CCTV camera, with a large strike down his singular "eye". His body was thin, with a frame pieced together with black and grey scrap metal, with holes dotted across his torso. His body clicked and clacked, his feet were meshed together with two small platforms parallel next to the speeder bike, making him look literally attached to his vehicle.

T.E.A.M ACTIVATED. INITIATING TRACKING VISION.

TRAJECTORY EMULATION ASSISTANCE MODULE CORRUPTED. COMMENCING "ASK LOCAL PEDESTRIAN" PROTOCOL.

The mouth of the city's entrance was blockaded by soldiers in expensive suits and covered in intimidating facial tattoos. Masses of people practically amalgamated in one huge mosh pit, attempting to plead and bribe their way into the sanctuary of the city. Although their lives would be filled with torment and strife within, they would at least be able to survive the savagery of the bandits and cruel warlords outside the city, throughout the wasteland.

A line had formed in front of the gate now. Gangsters sized up families, one at a time - kicking at the backs of their knees and shaking down their clothes. Regardless of if they had enough dough to get in or not, they were stripped of whatever wealth they had mustered to even reserve a chance of getting in, and marched back out into the cruel red desert by gunpoint.

The droid arrived with his speeder bike next to the stretched line. Some of the gangsters paused their shakedown of an old, withered lady and slowly approached the droid with their weapons tightly gripped in their hands. One of the more confident goons snickered. "Heh-hey! Look boys, rust bucket here's given us a free ride!"

"Pfft, yeah. Still, sorry about 'cha loss though... We don't allow scrapheads into our gracious city anyway, no matter how much your bike's worth."

"I SEEK THE CODRU-JI KNOWN AS "ATTAR-UZZIN". ANY AND ALL IDENTIFICATION RECORDS OR MISCELLANEOUS MATERIAL WOULD BE *BZZZT* - GREATLY APPRECIATED."

"Attah-Oozen?" one of the gangsters dipped their sunglasses down to eye the bot down menacingly. "No idea who he is. Now give us all your shit and we'll mercifully take you offline."

"THREAT DETECTED."

"INITIALIZING... INITIALIZING..."

The back of the droid's speeder bike quickly unfolded two doors to reveal a large compartment, filled with different "arms" fitted with different objects at the wrists. The droid swiftly tore his own arm off, replacing it with one of the many spares in his arsenal that had an entire GUN at the end.

"HOSTILITY DETECTED. COMMENCING "ALL SONS' OF BITCHES MUST DIE" PROTOCAL."

CHK-CHINK*-

RAT-TA-TATATATATATATATATATA--

The barrel didn't groan with blaring heat, or simmer with the sizzling of laser fire. These were raw, lead bullets of the highest calibre. The gangsters were blind sighted with the copious amounts of holes filling their body. Even their rough crime-lived partners shrieked at the sight of blood. Blood. Everywhere.

A modern blaster would cauterize the wound immediately upon contact, reducing the amount of bloody brutality. The only contact these privileged goons would have had with blood would be the soft scarlet on their knuckles after torturing some poor innocent with a beatdown. Instead, one of them was violently shredded apart in front of their accomplices, and the others attempted to return fire as quickly as possible.

But it was all too late.

The three that had previously guarded the door were reduced to fleshy debris on the ground after a hellstorm of gunfire. A guard that had been hidden in the crowd, which divided in fear away from the gate to the city, jumped out in between two people and lifted their blaster with the bot in his sights.

The bot shot at the gate... What? No one was there... And then-
The bullet would ricochet off a pylon that defined the rim of the gate, and then the reinforced bull bar of the droid's bike.. And then..

It left a bloody hole through the last guard's face.

T.E.A.M UNCORRUPTED SUCCESSFULLY. BULLET PATH CORRECTED.

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: FIND ATTAR-UZZIN AND RECOVER HIS HEAD.​

 

[Darth Seneca]

Hatred was a well known emotion to all Sith. It was one of their biggest pools to draw from when the time came -- just as it was something they inspired from those they encountered. Sihde stared at the Rodian much the way she would an old friend. Only bits and pieces of smugness flashed as she briefly watched him prepare a drink.

Soon enough, her gaze followed the trail of lingering smoke back to Attar. “I wouldn’t call you a slow talker.” Sihde began with a warm smile.

“But I would say you are not a good conversationalist. Suppose I’ll be forced to keep things simple -- especially since you already have many assumptions about me to deal with.”

Polished nails strummed along the edge of the counter. The dark red paint over two of them had come undone due to the rain still showering over the slums.

“I came here in search of new mind-altering substances. The heavily intoxicating kind. Instead, here we are.”

Her voice never rose higher than it needed in order to reach his ears, keeping as much as she could to the two of them. “I planned on ditching you in the middle of the fight at first but then you made a terrible mess of that flesh raider.”

A smile tugged on the corner of her lips. “At that point, I did have some questions. But at this moment, there is only one that seems important enough to ask.”

Sihde turned to look away only to find the Rodian return with a new drink. A clean glass with amber liquid was presented along with some dirty looks. She picked it up and took a tentative sip.

“Hmph. I can see why people would drink this. It is not entirely offensive. Anywho~”

Her attention returned to Attar. “Why is a being like you dwelling here?”

Unknown to Sihde, someone and something was on the hunt for the cloaked figure next to her.

 

[jasper the hunny bunny]

"Do I look like the kind of guy that'd be a good conversationalist?"
He'd lean in close, attentively. He'd quickly reflect and stammer-

"--no, seriously. Sorry, that sounded rude - I'm seriously asking. I really try to seem as unappealing as possible... so people leave me alone, especially around here."
He stroked the rough, patchy groom on his face.
"This pseudo-beard is just laziness though..."

Attar funnelled a breath of his smoke through his hand in the other direction to keep it away from Sihde. He may not have been as presentable as her, but he tried to remain gentlemanly - even if it was the bare minimum amount of courtesy.

"Mind-altering substances...?" He'd jab his Cigarra in Sihde's direction as if he was throwing a dart. "Are you a junkie?"
He quickly covered his mouth with his other hand. Despite the pressure he exerted, when he was relaxed, he was hilariously half-minded, and tended to say incredibly insensitive things.

"--Nevermind... And ditching me? I wouldn't have cared." He shrugged- he didn't take concepts of betrayal as personally as a layman would. "Those guys back there weren't exactly the most dangerous creatures on this planet. Would've saved me a couple of creds' if you did... No offense...!"

He listened on in idleness, enjoying the repetitive music of the bar; feeling as if he were home, until the question was finally asked.
Attar's lax aura seemed to darken. His gravity grew confrontational as the hair on his brow casted his furrowed eyes in darkness for a moment.
"What are you talking about."

He seemed bigger in his seat now. Not physically, but his presence began to demand attention. Such a simple question invoked a sudden burst of hostility in his gaze, before quickly faltering, as if the deep shadow that armoured his flesh vanished, replaced with an almost sorrowful look in his eyes - Attar's gaze looking at the floor with a small smirk growing underneath.

"I'm being followed, and I'm kind of afraid."

---

Attar keenly dodged the original intention of the question. A subversion of what kind of "being" he was, but rather, why was he there? That was easier to answer.
"That's why I've kept myself.. Untamed, as you see me. The hair, the shabby cloak... I want to blend into this hole of a planet from my pursuer."

"I've got a good feeling he's coming anyway."

He knew he was coming. Protoplast. That was his name - its name.
"... I think I need a drink too. Jet juice, on boulders thanks Fec."
Fec complied - but Jet Juice? For a lightweight like Attar? He tilted his head a moment, but silently nodded.

It was served chilled on a layer of large ice blocks in a mug-shaped glass. A cigar in one hand, and an incredibly generous amount of alcohol in the other. Attar was currently a shining example of poor health choices.

"Let's toast, to strangers overcoming dangers..!"

 

[Darth Seneca]

Sihde threw back more of her iceless drink and listened, relishing the burn it brought. While slender and dainty, she was no lightweight. It wasn’t one of her passions. Not a pleasurable experience she simply couldn’t get enough of. The job demanded it. Meetings with foreign dignitaries were always flowing with wines, liquors and the occasional contraband. And then there were her extracurricular activities…

“Mission accomplished. You look sufficiently unappealing.” She quipped as he stroked his beard. Sihde then gave the cantina a quick look over, gently leaning against the bar, having yet to take a seat.

… “Are you a junkie?”...

It was with a sharp and judgmental arch of the brow that her attention returned to Attar. This question went unanswered as she stared at him with ill intent that rolled like a passing breeze. Soon, it softened and returned to a more relaxed nature -- which meant she looked angry and vengeful. A snobbish mean mug.

She was in the middle of having another drink when the air surrounding Attar shifted. Slowly, she gulped it down and patiently waited, studying his presence, mannerisms and nervous ticks.

A small and genuinely warm smile formed when the answer to her question came, the why being more important to her than the what.

“A curious battleground to choose for what could be your last stand.” The woman softly mused, raising her glass and toasting.

“And to overcoming dangerous strangers~”
Clink!

Sihde chugged the rest of her drink down, politely placing the empty glass on the counter when finished. “Ooof. That was a mistake.” A clenched fist bumped her chest twice. Then once.

A satisfied sigh followed. “I am going to follow your example and assume you have either done something very bad to good people, or you’ve done something very good for bad people.”

One of the cantina patrons sitting by himself stood and hurried his way to the exit.

“Not like it matters. I am not here to judge your character. Just your shoes and hair.” A playful curve took over her lips now. “You seem like a capable man. I trust you have a plan for how to handle this? There’s an awful lot of collateral in these streets.”

Somewhere in orbit, the console of Sihde’s personal transport vessel blinked a few times. This prompted the tall Imperial man sitting at the cockpit to flip on some lights and begin preparations for travel.