Being Beautiful and Important is a Full Time Job

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Now, Dyana and Thrifei, you two go on. Come on now time is a wasting girls!"

Okar the Fabulous, the Brilliant, and Splendid clapped his thick hands together with authoritative vigor, his tail waggling to the holoprojector operator to be sure to get the best angle and lighting. These were the last two models of the day, and the notoriously-fickle weather on Ithor threatened to snap the window shut on the photo shoot.

"You're lithe, you're birds of paradise! Strut and believe every minute of it!"

Pausing momentarily to adjust his wide-brimmed sun hat, Okar reached up, holding a light sensor. Noting that they still had decent lighting, he waved over one of about two-dozen interns that huddled near him.

"Where's my Varada Sunset? I'm in my element I need to feel it, I need to feel it. So help me if we don't get these shots I'll flay your hide and fire you!"

A mad scramble to one of the nearby tents and an intern arrived with a goblet full of fiery-orange drink. Okar tipped it up to his lips, daintily sipping between the umbrella and the assorted fruit slices wedged on top. His tongue traced the top of the glass, scooping up some of the fruit for him to munch on as the models continued to strike their poses.

"Your Fabulousness?" a man with greying temples approached Okar. The Fashion-forward Hutt shifted his weight to take in the handsome visage of his majordomo, Raakan.

"Yes dear?"

"Your 4:30 appointment just landed. Should I escort them here?"

Okar frowned a little.

"Oh dear I suppose I should see to that, shouldn't I? That was today, wasn't it?"

He clapped his hands again.

"Okay my divas, keep being divine. I must see to other things!"

Okar slithered forward with a surprising amount of speed for a Hutt, gesticulating for Rakaan to follow him.

"I'll take my company in my tent. Please make sure refreshments are ready. Also, keep close by. I really don't know what sort of person this fellow is. You vetted them, yes?"

Rakaan nodded.

"A Diamond in the Rough, my Fabulousness. Nothing your imagination can't help to make better."

Okar clapped his hands.

"Oh, good, good. I like surprises when they're good ones. Very well. I will be in my tent. Send my masseuse!"

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

Hutts. Why of all the stinking galaxy rabble did it always have to be Hutts? They stank, they were nothing but repulsive, overgrown slabs of fat with eyes and a slit to to dump garbage in - and they couldn't be trusted at any level. If some higher being had hand-picked them for greatness, he must've had a real sense of humor.

Gwenc cursed his luck, standing in the ante-chamber of some flashy tent, wondering for the tenth time why he hadn't passed this one up when he'd first received the message.

But truth to be told, he wouldn't have been able to turn it down even if he'd known from the start that "The Great and Fabulous Lord Okar" was a Hutt. The mercenary had been looking for something to take him off manda'yaim for the last three months, with no success. They'd been three very long, very tedious months sharing his buir's house with what remained of his siblings. The part of himself that had been born and raised somewhere else had often balked at the closeness, the sense of clannishness that pervaded every inch of his adopted mother's house, now more so than it had when he'd grown up in the place. It just seemed unnatural to this other part of him, to live with family so long; yet C'arpat and Mirshko had stuck it out all these years, and they were his ori'vode - the older ones. The only ones surviving of the twelve children Ruus and Uvete Paklalat had started out with. The number of mouths to feed had never wavered, though, despite the times the hotchpotch family had had to mourn one of their own. Even after her husband's death a couple of years back, Uvete hadn't stopped taking them in. It was her weak spot - adopting little boys and girls who had no place else to go to. It was a Mando thing. The Mando part of him felt perfectly at home with this.

Yes, he'd desperately wanted to get off Mandalore again. He'd gone stir-crazy, even with the amount of errands buir had him do for her that took him outside the house. She knew him too well.

"Okar the Fabulous will see you now, Master Leeshweesic."

The Hutt's human majordomo seemed somehow put out that he had such an unpronouncable name, but the Mandalorian didn't bother putting him right. He just wanted this over with.

[Okar the Fabulous]

The tent smelled, pleasantly enough, of exotic spice and perfume. Okar, always at the cutting edge of presentability and high fashion, would not tolerate something as uncouth as, well, smelling like a Hutt. It was even his own marketed fragrance. Hubris or was it Divinity. Hm, nevermind they were similar enough and equally sold well.

A Zeltron male, a Cizerack male, and a Twi'Lek female, all in peak physical form and wearing only white sarongs and a sheen of oil, left the tent as the Mandalorian arrived.

Raakan approached Okar's dais, whispering a few things in his ear as the Mandalorian stepped full center. The Hutt "ooed" and "aahed" occasionally, shifting his girth a bit as he tilted to regard his majordomo, and then the potential new hire. With an impatient flitting of his wrist, the Fabulous One finally shooed Raakan away, who similarly disappeared the way the trio of masseuses left.

Okar blinked, his eyelids revealing an azure stain of eye shadow and fake ornate eyelashes that had been fitted there. Draped over his girth were a shimmering strand of pearls from Dac with a gold pendant at the bottom that was of his own label's design.

"Now, now, don't be shy, I want to see you in all your glory Mr. Leeshweesic. My man tells me that you are a very talented person."

In a matter-of-fact way, Okar shifted his girth again, his tail flipping in front of his belly in a flourish.

"Is that true? I've never been in a position to be of need of a person of your skill and I want to make sure I do shop wisely."

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

What in the seven hells of haran was this?!?

Of all Hutts - and he'd seen his share over the years - this one had to be the most disturbing. Gwenc had never seen anything like it before - what was it trying to be? It looked like a cross between a... no, he couldn't even think of what to compare it to!

But this was business. The snort of disbelief that tickled his nose didn't leave it. Inspite of the disgusting wafts of something extremely flowery and musky sticking to the air around the Hutt.

What in haran am I doing here?!? The question begged an answer, now even more than before. This was a seriously bad idea - and he hadn't even heard what the Hutt wanted.

After a long moment's inner wrangling with himself, he flushed down his annoyance with a hard swallow of his own saliva. It tasted of the cloying scent permeating the air surrounding Okar.

Wondering what the Hutt's majordomo had told his employer about him, he cautiously ventured a reply.

"That always depends on what kind of talent you are looking for, great-" - sooran, shab! - " - Okar."

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Well, it appears I am a victim of my own success. You would think that staying out of the, shall we say, more risky ventures that other clan members might attach themselves to would afford me a decent night's sleep, but for shame, it is not the case."

Okar gasped a bit, a hand pressed against his neck rolls.

"My manners, a thousand pardons. Please do help yourself to refreshments. Now, I had you in my mind's eye as a whiskey drinker. If that's not the case you will see my portfolio is diversified!"

He gestured to a long table in which dozens of crystal tumblers and assorted drinking accoutrements lay in wait.

"I must say I am tickled at the notion of such a darkly mysterious person like yourself, I hope that causes no offense. It may, in fact, be a trite cliché, the foreboding and brooding loner gun for hire, in solace with a glass of bourbon as his sole comfort. Isn't that romantic?"

Okar produced a paper fan, flitting it open to fan himself as he talked.

"Oh but listen to me going on, when you are clearly interested in business talk. You see, Mr. Leeshweesic, some very unpleasant people have had uncouth things to say about not only me, but my fashion line. I'm of a mind to think that I may be in harm's way!"

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

"I see."

That was all he managed to say. It was taking all his efforts to not start bursting out with laughter at this ... at this.... osik, there weren't even any words in Mando'a for it, and that was saying something!

A travesty. A sad, sad travesty.

"The name is Leh-scoo-e-tzic," he finally growled, from behind clenched teeth. Far from being enthusiastic about Hutts, he could nevertheless understand why Okar's species wanted him put 'in harm's way'. Shab, for the right amount of credits he'd offer them Okar's head on a plate himself.

Safe to say, he felt no compulsion to help himself to anything other than the exit, but he had to be polite for business' sake.

"I am not a bodyguard." Not strictly true - he'd had a couple of jobs that had come close to it - but he had no desire to fit this Hutt's job profile, no matter what the pay was.

[Okar the Fabulous]

Okar rocked back at the correction of the Mandalorian's name, and for politeness, tried it on. He got it nearly right, lacking in some of the nuance and shook his head.

"Apologies, naturally. Basic has...limitations for us. Would you rather a nickname?"

Okar noted that the man eschewed drink too. How stoic. So drab and disciplined on the outside, but he must surely have a mind like a steel trap.

"Not a bodyguard? I, uh, see. More into something, shall we say, more proactive then?"

The Hutt leaned down to push a voxcomm.

"Oh Rakaan, do be a dear and bring the file to Mr. Lehscooetzic."

While they waited, Okar smilled cordially, interlacing his stubby fingers together.

"Have you heard, by chance, of OKwear, my label? We do spectacular sales in the Core, but I admit we aren't sold everywhere."

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

One reply seemed enough to answer all the Hutt's questions but one.

"No."

He wasn't interested in answering the remaining one. That was to say - he was going to look at this file and see what the Hutt's idea of "proactive" was. Since he'd come all the way to this place, he might as well look.

Perhaps if this could be hurried on, there would be a chance to be back on manda'yaim in time to catch the game.

[Okar the Fabulous]

Rakaan entered the tent with a dataslip, discretely pressing the device into the Mandalorian's hand before shrinking back the way he came.

The dataslip had a few bits of information about a certain individual:

[Barnaby Wednesdaydale]

Name: Barnaby Wednesdaydale
Alias: Shoestone, Horrible Cunt
Age: Nearly as old as a Hutt
Disposition: Unpleasant
Occupation: Retired from service in Black Sun, currently an "investor"
Last known location: Corellia

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

The Mandalorian's eyes skimmed across the words. He'd lifted a brow upon being handed this file, and it had only risen up further and been joined by the second as doubt was replaced by disbelief.

What kind of a description was this?!? "Disposition: unpleasant?" "Age: Nearly as old as a Hutt?" What kind of an utter or'dinii kept files like that?!?

But a glance back at the .... thing .... and he knew exactly what kind of being would have useless data like this.

Then one thing caught his eye: Black Sun. And turning the pad around to hold it out for either the Hutt or his majordomo to take, he grimly growled: "I don't deal with Black Sun garbage."

[Okar the Fabulous]

Okar nodded empathetically.

"Nor should you, they're all dreadful sorts, aren't they?"

He sipped at his fancy drink and sighed.

"But alas, he's retired. Oh, I don't know, maybe seven years ago. About the only work he does now is to throw credits around and break peoples' knees when they don't pay back with excessive interest."

Okar smiled, waggling a finger at the Mandalorian.

"But he didn't count on dealing with a nemesis without any knees to break, aha! A turn of phrase, you see. No? Oh well."

The Hutt's brow knit.

"Mr. Lehscooetzic, I'm not feeling any positive energy over here. I need to feel it. Come, this is a give and take. I give, you take, you give, I take. Let's make magic together. You've heard what I'd like, I need to hear what you'd like."

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

No one ever retired from Black Sun. At least not willingly and without losing something very valuable - like a head, or something equally valuable. If this thing, this Hutt, didn't know this then he - she? it? what was it? - was even more of an ord'inii than he originally thought.

At the Hutt's last words he forced a grimaced grin onto his features. What he'd like at this moment was a nerf steak, fries and a pint of gal, and a couple million creds in his account, but that'd mean he'd have to do some work first.

Black Sun was trouble. He neither had something against work nor against trouble, but it was all a matter of the right kind of circumstances. And risking the Black Sun kind of trouble for a duraanyc, yaiyai'yc worm like this Okar wasn't anything like the right kind.

Not unless he was going to get the sort of compensation to make this really worth while.

It was worth a shot.

"2 million."

[Okar the Fabulous]

Okar paused, thought, and shook his head.

"Oh no, sweety. That's just too rich for a toadstool like Old Barnaby. But since we are making magic together, let's say 1.5 million, and to sweeten the pot, I'll free up 500,000 of it up front for any operating expenses you need, like a new coat of paint on your armor or what-have-you."

Okar licked his lips briefly as he paused, and fiddled with his necklace.

"Oh, and I'll extend you a 100,000 chit stipend to use on my label. You know, once you're rich and successful you'll want to dress the part!"

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

"You can keep that last bit."

The Mandalorian mercenary hadn't for one second imagined that this Okar was going to pay such a ridiculously high fee - his initial bid had been a daring one, made hoping the Hutt would be discouraged by his asking price, and it was far above what he'd ever made on a job. This offered a new outlook on the entire matter.

Somewhat less gruffly than before, he inclined his head to show he accepted. For a sum like that he could live contentedly for a while. Buir would find use for it, too, for several things needed replacements around the farm.

The rules of his business required him to engage the traditional haggling around the price, but in this case his conscience was pricking up. This Wednesdaydale guy, even for a Black Sun man, wasn't worth paying so much for, and if anything then he was a fair man by nature. But then again... it might be wise to wait and see what trouble he might get himself into with it.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Oh, well..."

Okar hadn't thought about the sordid details of what he was asking. His mind wandered a bit as he considered the possibilities.

"If you can bring him here that would be delicious I'm sure, but then again, if he were to prove to be as unbearable to you as he is to me, I would understand if he had a life-ending accident. I suppose either option is acceptible. But, just to make it interesting, I'll increase your purse by a quarter million if he's alive and brought back."

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

"Deal."

This was getting better by the second.

In truth, he wasn't a bounty hunter, but there wasn't exactly a job desciption to his chosen profession. If Okar the Fabulous wanted to pay him 1.75 million creds to find an old man and drag him back here - then he had no problem with that.

"How reliable is this information about Corellia?"

[Okar the Fabulous]

"I'd put money on it, sweety. You know the type. He's one of those proud Corellians. Wears bloodstripes even though he never served anything at all, goes ooon and ooon about Corellian this and that."

Okar rolled his eyes.

"Pretty much guarantee you'll find him there eventually, using whatever vantage he's got to piss off anybody within HoloNet frequency. What a loathsome trogdolyte."

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

It didn't sound like much to go on, but it was as good a starting place as any. But just to make sure, he'd head home and have a few talks with a few people. The Oyu'baat was a beskar mine of information - if you knew whom and how to ask.

"Fine. You will hear from me. Soon."

With that, he made to go. "I'll send you my account details so you can transfer that advance."

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Delightful, darling!"

Okar nodded emphatically.

"My man Rakaan will make prompt payment on the same business day. I assure you, one of the first tenets of the fashion industry is always pay on time. Styles sometimes fall in and out of vogue in the same week. You've got to strike when the iron is hot, I think that's the term used. Yes, most definitely."

He did rather hope that the Mandalorian was something of a carouser, and would spend time in his good company. Then again, there was something sort of refreshing and thematic with dealing with such brutally pragmatic people. It was like wearing black, in that it would always make sense no matter what the flight of fancy.

[Gwenc'hlan Le Scouëzec]

He gave the Hutt another nod, then walked out.

This had to have been one of the most bizarre meetings, he reflected, as he walked back to his transport. Still, all in all a lucrative one - more than lucrative: that amount of credits could get him places. Buir would not have to worry for a while.

Twenty minutes later, the Mandalorian's ship lifted off and got on its way to Corellia - with a short side-trip back to Mandalore.