Shotguns and alcohol

[Darth Turbogeek]

"You really do know how to pick them mate"

He looked up from the gun he had in his hands, just recently selected from the racks of rare guns in the corner. "Sue me, I like heavy artillery. Where the hell did you get this thing from anyway? I've never seen anything more than hazy holos and inaccurate descriptions"

The dealer grinned, pleased one of his best customers was impressed "107 units of high strength alloy, wooder stock, pump action reloads. Superconductor coils, 400 shot power cell, sabot rounds - made by Winsti on Arcan IV" he intoned, taking the weapon back and holding it up like a glass of fine wine. "12 round chambered, rather heavy but that helps with the kickback"

"KIckback? How bad?" He looked at the lathe work on the barrel, with was barely noticable. Hand built he thought was some surprise, who the hell did that anymore?

"LIke you would hardly believe. This bastard will break your shoulder if you hold it wrong. I test fired it and frell it damn near took arm off - and the noise is incredible - the shells use a pyrotechnic charge to accelerate into the first of the coils and when it fires it's a loud sonabitch"

After all these years, he still didnt understand what the old dealer said when he dropped out of Galatic standard and used slang from a far away planet. Still, the gleam in the dealer's eye was enough to get the intent. "Can it be silenced?"

"You dont bother with this and this aint no sniper gun. You either spread your target's brain across a parsec in a barfight or you have a pissed off being coming after ya with a big ass club. So dont miss"

He took the gun back, smelling the oil and linament. Very different to the usual blaster smell of chemicals and ozone and also much heavier. A throwback to a different time when energy shields didnt exist... "So... uhhh.... what's the point of this thing with the latest armour and shields? It's a gorgeous bit of cannon but why the frell is it so expensive if it's as noisy as a Star Destroyer and a manual reload? Age and antiquity dont mean squat"

The dealer raised an eyebrow. "Close the front door matey and 100 credits, I'll show ya"

"100 credits? What for?"

"The shells"

"Really?"

"Each"

"A hundred credits a shell??????" So you mean fully loaded it's 1200 credits? I could buy a dozen blasters for that"

"Oh... I think you ight find this worth every credit matey. Close and lock the door. You gotta see this"

--

It was a bit unusal for a arms dealer to have a range underground, but 'Smitty' wasnt any arms dealer. He traded exotic and blackmarket, rare and legal, unquie and not so legal. His prospective client was a regular customer, a man who liked to collect from all over the galaxy. He wasnt exactly someone who would stand out in a crowd - a regular human, just gone middle aged, a tough and lean travel lined face while a frame to match. There were countless more just like him. Frankly, beign just like so many other was the perfect disguie. He could slip in and out of palces without anyone remembering - not from some trick but simply being so unremarkable and not worth remembering.

Probably could make some serious coin as a spy in these times of turmoil. The best spies were always the ones you just didnt notice and had trouble remembering they were ever there - and he was good at that. It made what he did to afford the weapons collection much easier.

Downstairs into cold permacrete, through a alloy blast door, then to a dark room that extended out - the full extent only becommign clear as Smitty turned the glowpanels on to reveal a spacious, long and well set up target shooting gallery. THe smell of ozone really was intense and made his nostrils flare - something he always noticed. Being no stranger to Smitty's shop and beign a good client, he was trusted to behave himself. Along the walls were weapons that were in the process of beign repaired or tested, statements to the artisty Smitty put into his work. A couple of droids paid no attention to the two humans, intent on some task Smitty had them doing.

"Now where... ah here it is. Imperial trooper armour. Latest version too" Wana go mount it up on the target dummy?" Smitty asked

He shrugged, picking up the plasti and slouching to the target dummy, a transparisteel manniquen some 100 paces back on a slide. He spent a few minutes securing the armour, nodded when he was done and slouched back. Smitty had already chambered a round with what was quite an impressive thud, ear protection on with blast goggles. "I'd be putting on dem ear things if I was you" Smitty said as the manniquen was servoed back another 200 paces. The average guy just shrugged and Smitty rolled his eyes. "Dont say I didnt warn ya!"

Yeah right. Just a bunch of ...

His eardrums felt like they were blown together with the sheer power of the deep feral roar as the gun spat fire, mixed with the high pitched bang of the projectile being fired at many times the speed of sound. The gunsmith barely kept the gun in hand and swore lustily - but that wasnt what was making the averge guy stare in amazement. It was the big hole in the armour as well as pieces of manniquen still bouncing around the end of the range.

He looked

And turned in wonder.

"I..... want a go..." he manged to speak.

--

Smitty wasnt kidding about the kickback, his shoulder was going to be sore tomorrow. But four shots was enough to show the sheer power the Arcan Defender actually had - there was pieces of wall probably still flying down in the range. And not kidding about the cost either. But things of quality, they were worth every credit. The gunsmith had 100 rounds, a body holster for the unweldy beast, straps and recharge packs. There was also some spares, which sealed the deal. A small drink to seal the deal and it would all be shipped to his home in four days.

He exited the shop, tucked away in some nodescript corner of a building in a busy area of Coruscant, far enough from any meddling eyes but close enough to a local spaceport. Just like him, nice and quiet, dont bring any attention and you can go on your way and if anyone did poke their nose where it didnt belong, well there was always either credits or direct 'persuasion' to not say anything.

For once the air smelt fairly fresh altho that was an illusion. There was nothing fresh on this shithole and he would be glad to get off it... and there was a stupd frelling security checkpoint in the direction he was going. Oh well. Line up for a few minutes, flash his latest id and his latest name, then move on. Of course the name was false. He didnt really have a name, just an alias. Today's was Pelosi Gregity, a chef who was employed at a local eatery on his day off. Actually that last bit wasnt even a lie, he really was having a day off and enjoying some shopping and soon he hoped a bit of a stroll and lie down in a local park.

Maybe he would luck out and a local fitness club would be doing outdoor work and he could have a bit of eyecandy to check out. You never know your luck.

[Darth Bacillus]

Bare feet on a public treadmill might not have been a smart idea at first sights. Fitness clubs were renowned to harbor various diseases from athletes foot to staphylococcus aureus (otherwise known as Staph Infections). Humans were sweaty, disgusting animals for the most part whos hygiene was subpar. Their ideas of cleaning off sweat covered equipment was to wipe a raggedy towel across the bench. As if something cotton made could adequately clean up their filth. That was why Bacillus had chosen her fitness center carefully. Regient was a top of the line fitness facility who's employees seemed on top of the whole contagious disease aspect. Each time someone checked off of a machine, a worker hurried over and scrubbed it down with warm soapy water, then followed up with an anti-bacterial spray.

For the togruta, running barefoot on a treadmill that she had seen cleaned with her own eyes was nothing to be concerned about. Togruta were an agile species who felt the need to hold a deeper connection with their environment than most humans did. Bare feet on a planets surface seemed to embolden and strengthen a Togruta. Running barefoot also helped with muscle development and strengthening in the species legs and ankles better than had Bacillus worn shoes. A semi-long towel wrapped around her neck and on occassion the Sith Apprentice wiped at her face, dabbing away the sweat that beaded up.

Coruscant was a fowl planet and one she did not feel comfortable on but her Master had given her a mission. So long as the mission remained unfulfilled, she would stay on the city planet. Today, however, her primary target was secure in one of the many Imperial buildings and only a suicidal Sith would barge into such a fortress. Bacillus was smarter than that. She was also patient and held no quarrels simply waiting for her prey to reveal himself. So what better way for the woman to pass the time than by blending into the background. A few hours at the gym followed up by a relaxing dinner was a surefire way to fill the empty void between now and the inevitable confrontation with the Imperial Officer.

Just outside the main doors of the fitness club, Bacillus continued her pace. The only thing she concerned herself with was the pace at which her heart beat and remarkably... it beat rather calmly.

[Serrena Alcine]

"Excuse me...Miss Alcine?"

The raven-haired woman sighed as she stopped, lifting a manicured hand to slide her sunglasses down to the end of her nose. She turned slowly on the delicate heel of her silver stiletto to peer down - no, up - at the source of the voice. One of the guards from the last checkpoint she'd passed through, Serrena noted.

"Something I can do for you, Captain?" she purred, sliding a smile across her glossy crimson lips.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss, but would you mind signing this for me? Some of the men and I are fans of your work..."

"I am flattered, Captain...I'd be delighted to sign it."

With a slightly more genuine expression, she withdrew a scarlet pen from her clutch, signing the proffered poster with a flourish and a rather decadent declaration. "You be sure and give the boys my best, alright? I'll be by again in a few months to check up on my favorite crew."

Mature and accustomed to leading as he was, even the Captain wasn't immune to her wicked grin as he smiled dazedly back. A flick of her wrist saw the pen replaced in her clutch and her glasses firmly set across the bridge of her nose once more. A graceful turn preceded her sauntering off down the street, her thoughts wandering in a dozen different directions.

While moments like this still occured, they were become fewer and further in between. Soon enough, she mused, there would come a time when the whispers of half-breed would begin to overshadow the adulation of those few fans who'd remained loyal. She sighed, the sound faintly audible as her shaded gaze passed over her wrist chrono.

An hour until her scheduled meeting.

Serrena swore creatively under her breath as she debated how to pass the time. Entertaining as the notion of starting a bar brawl was, Emelie would likely not appreciate such decorum when she was supposed to be on official business. Instead, she turned right and wandered into the pretty little park, intent on basking in its artificial light and warmth. Fingers smoothed out the delicate knit that was passing for a skirt and top before she took a seat on a bench.

With any luck, trouble would find her.

[Darth Turbogeek]

"Lets see now.... left and then another left...."

The damn planet city wasnt quite a place you could simpy walk to a park. Finding one was the first problem, what with the exact zero of any natural greenery. And then of course, the artifical nature made anthing larger than a balcony garden difficult to maintain and even expensive. Plus not to mention if you stopped moving you would have a building built on top of you, much like the fact half the blasted place had been built on several layers of debris and wreckage of the old. If it wasnt for the fact that the same was the way the greatest civilisations were built and that debris made for surprisingly good foundations he was sure the entire place would fall down into a pool of it's own self importance.

It was rather debateable how great this particular civilisation was however. Certainly was enough wreckage from years of fighting to build entire planets - but then again he was a cynical sonabitch as Smitty would be liable to say. Being all bright eyed and sunstruck got you exactly nowhere other than more than likely a bit of a fall off the overpass you were on and ending up as a splatmark on the windshield of life.

Annnd..... while he was musing, here was the park. Heeeeey not bad there was a fitness group right here. He found a seat, reached into a pocket and took out a small box that contained some food. Quite good stuff he had gotten earlier inthe day but because it was seafood and lots of tentacles, expensive and somewhat not availible in the non human areas.

Much like human arms were not availible in human areas for consumption. It was a bit of a non spoken fact of life that no matter where you were on the food chain, there was something that found you delicious. Frelled if he knew if the tentacles came off somethign intelligent, they tasted damn good.

The human girl in the green hotpants was also pretty damn good too.

Ahhh, what a dirty old man.

Actually now coming to think about it, wasnt there a pretty good bar around here too? Food, a bit of alcohol, good scencery.... but first he was goign to stay right here while these rows of women did toe touches.

[Callomas Savoc]

At the opposite end of the bench, Callomas Savoc continued to read the databook he'd brought with him. It had been, it seemed, too engrossing. He'd neglected his caf, and by now the stimulating hot beverage had lost it's heat and it's charm.

He regarded his fellow bench-mate with a brief nod of recognition.

"I see you have met the Quarren proprietor. His choices are fresh. It's been a while since I last visited Dac, but I cannot imagine a better meal even there for the price."

[Darth Turbogeek]

He raised a tentacle up to eye level, giving it an appraisal - and also with a slight eyeslight realign, the speaker at the other side of the bench.

Older human. Balding. Cup of a beverage and a databook. Looked just like a fellow dirty old man having a perve. Appearences could be decieving tho.

"I almost suspect this is Quarren" he said, with some hint of gallows humour "The proprietor is a rather seedy being I hear. But a good cook and worth the credits" He ate what was on his fork, glancing back at the women doing some sort of rather visually interesting exercise. "Most excellent - and I wouldnt mind eating what's in the purple"

The woman in question did have quite a spectaclar backside and pants so tight he could tell when she last shaved. And was at that exact moment leaving not a lot for the imagination - and she was rather flexible too.

[Callomas Savoc]

"There are so many scenic views on Coruscant, yet I cannot disagree with your taste in this particular one."

Suddenly forgetting his book, Callomas leaned back slightly with a small smile on his face.

"But you, ahem, did not come to Imperial Center simply for the view."