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Esther Hadrana

Dec 27th, 2012, 09:45:20 PM

Trí Marcaigh was dirty on the outside, with its signage scuffed and worn with weather and age, and the windows clouded and murky. The door was of wood, and opened on hinges, which only a year ago would have struck her as being something wondrously primitive, only heard about or seen when her grandfather returned from one of his long trips. Esther smiled, beginning to feel that she was on her way.

The inside was smoky and dim, just like she’d heard and read about in the holos and fiction before she’d come here to this planet and was cut off. A large man, with a red bushy moustache, was pouring some beer, or ale, for a couple customers.

“Well, if this isn’t curious, then I’ll eat my hat I will,” the barman said, his eyes, dark like two little coals flitting over to her. “Who’s got a message this time? Rochlan? And a new lad?”

“I’m...” she paused, looking about and firming her resolve before plunging forward both metaphorically and literally, stepping up to the bar and looking up at the man, who was larger than at first she’d thought. “I’m on an errand of my own.”

His brows, a darker colour than that of his moustache, rose slightly.

“Speak on,” he said, turning away from the other customers, whose curiosity was just as blatant.

“I want to find a dangerous man,” she said, “to hunt and kill Ranshe of the Stables. The particulars I will reserve for the man who takes the job, but I am willing to pay a fair price.”

Quiet fell upon them all.

“I think you had better give up on that dream, lad,” the barman said slowly. “There’s a price on his head, but - “

“But there’s not a man in here will dare attempt it,” a patron said challengingly, standing. He glared at her, and stepped up. He loomed over her, licking his teeth and resting a hand on the handle of a knife in his belt. Near the knife was a blaster or ballistic pistol in a holster of soft leather. “And I’m not too appreciative of someone tryin’ te stir up trouble fer ‘im. Ranshe’s a hero, lad.”

“Fallan,” the barman said, standing up as the man drew his knife and pressed it against her cheek, one hand holding her by the shoulder to keep her still.

“Perhaps I should make an example of ye,” Fallan said. “If there’s a child will entertain the thought of hunting Ranshe, others will be thinking of it too. Maybe cutting out yer tongue will make ye think twice about what ye say and where ye’ll say it; or perhaps we'll just widen that smile a bit, eh?”

Fallan smiled nastily.

“Say ‘ah’, lad,” he said.

Fidavar Veir

Feb 17th, 2013, 04:01:38 AM

He’d been mindin’ his own business, mindin’ on his own, without even so much as Ed to harass him with the brotherly sentiment that hung always between the two of them. Ye gods only knew what in th’hells he was doin’ here, not so much in the smoky, liquored dim of Trí Marcaigh, but on the planet itself. Mayhaps he was hiding, but in the whole truth of it all, there wasn’t a feck of a clue. It was just there, and Ed was not and it would have to do.

Fid was, like it was already said, mindin’ his own business and hunched over the bar counter, staring into an ale (oh ale, the beloved!), sucking in and blowing out on a cigarra in this place full of tabac and cigarras, dirty-faced men and women of a dirty reputation. To be fair, iffin’ ye put it right, Fidavar Veir was precisely in the type of place he belonged if you didn’t care to look too in-depth into the man, beneath the veneer of dangerous and lecherous.

Oh, he was mindin’ his own business, mindin’ all on his own, but i’tall be damned if something didn’t just come up. Not so funny, it was, how the mere mention of one name or another turned heads.

Especially his, in particular.

Fecking child. Boy, you’ll get y’self in all manner of trouble. Feck off on out of here, for your own good.

Of course, aside from the fact that…

…it’s not a lad?

Fid slipped almost soundlessly off the stool, the lowest levels of his interest garnered, and leaned in a little to observe more closely.

Well, shit.

“Perhaps I should make an example of ye.If there’s a child will entertain the thought of hunting Ranshe, others will be thinking of it too. Maybe cutting out yer tongue will make ye think twice about what ye say and where ye’ll say it; or perhaps we'll just widen that smile a bit, eh?”

Oh, like fecking hell…

“Say ‘ah’, lad.”

It was easy to interfere. So bloody easy to find himself shoving the little lass out of the way, breaking the fingers of Fallan, and breaking parts of his head on the bar before holding a rather old-model blaster to his head when Fallan and his clearly broken cheek, nose and jaw tried to stand again. The blaster whined as it primed to put a bolt in Fallan’s head and permanently break him. And the lass was just standing there, like all the rest of the idiots in this place.

“Get the fuck out, lass, y’hear me?” He bit out, keeping the blaster pointed at the assailer of the little girl as he backed out of the establishment himself. The other patrons, equally with a lack of sense, came on to him, at which point the bounty hunter elected to turn, put a bolt in the shoulder of the nearest one, temporarily warning the lot of them off, and picked the girl up about the waist as he bolted out the door against the angry calls of the patrons. Leaving behind a pack of drunks was always easy. Carrying extra weight while at a sprint was fecking tiring, but putting in enough distance between the establishment and them, finding a spot where they were unseen and unfound was uncomplicated.

He had cased the town on the way in. Was nothing but common practice, that was. Once the elder Veir was certain they were well-concealed, he let the girl go, removing the hand from her mouth and rubbing at what would later be bruises, no thanks to her kicking and pounding fists.

“Now, lassie, y’mind letting me know just what the hell that was back there? Little lassies should know better than to… than to be go’n off and doing things like that, and…”

Where in the frak am I going with this, hm?

It was all enough to give Fid a headache.

“Ranshe of the Stables, are ye fuckin’ shitting me?”

Esther Hadrana

Feb 17th, 2013, 12:36:52 PM

She adjusted her shirt and waited a moment for her face to pale again from its blustery red.

"That's... that's a blaster," she said, looking at him intently. "You're from off planet, aren't you? Hardly anyone carries a blaster here. Too difficult to get power packs."

He'd carried her about half a kilometer west, almost to the edge of the city itself, given that Trí Marcaigh was situated closer to the southwestern gates.

"Ranshe of the Stables, are ye fuckin' shitting me?"

She shifted in embarrassment. The man had a following on the planet composed of nearly every man, woman, and child who hated the Empire, and that was nearly every man, woman, and child on the planet. A hero of the tales, was the talk she'd heard of him. One of the last to stand against the Empire in Avan, and escaped only hours before the Stormtroopers marched in and occupied the city. Since then, he'd been raiding and killing as many Imperials as he could.

"It was the only place where I could find someone who would kill him. I was hoping I could use the fame of killing a hero angle," she sat down on a bench lining the building they'd taken shelter behind. From the sounds and smells, it was a smithy.

Fidavar Veir

Sep 23rd, 2013, 08:50:18 PM

“Of course it’s a blaster… oh for th’love’a…”

Shaking his head in utter disbelief, Fidavar shifted back and settled on the bench with a dull thunk, his elbows promptly landing on his knees and his head sinking into his hands, the cold of the blaster digging into his forehead.

“Ye damn right I’m not from ‘round here.” He answered, finally, and: only cowards and feckless fools make their lives, here, he thought inwardly. That being a life decision he’d almost considered making himself, once upon a time. A note to the lads and lassies: life decisions are best made when not drunk and you can see your so-called allies clearly. Sitting up, he set his back against the outer wall of the building, he let out a long, mind-clearing breath and turned his head against the wall to look on the girl, the fact that he was nearly as young himself when he first got a blaster in his hands. Not that his own personal circumstances should be taken as advocacy for, well, anything.

“So, then. What… inspired your pretty little head to want to have such a man of ill-gotten power as Ranshe of the Stables dispatched from the land of the living? What’d he do t’you?”

Esther Hadrana

Sep 24th, 2013, 11:29:14 AM

"He unjustly murdered a good man while he escaped from the Imperial siege in Avan," she answered quickly, looking this offworlder in the eye. Then she remembered she was an offworlder too; it was easy to forget, given the circumstances. "A man to whom he owed more than a sum of credits."

She didn't want to say the man's name. Ishak Odran's name had become synonymous with 'coward' in all but a few parts of the world, and bringing him up would do no good to her cause.

"I want him to die for it," she said firmly. "Because he laughed while he did it."

Fidavar Veir

Sep 30th, 2013, 06:11:20 PM

Both of his eyebrows rose just slightly.

“A man’s feeling of perverse satisfaction in’t a very good reason for wantin’ ‘im dead, lassie.” At that he turned his face away from the girl and sat up just enough to slip the blaster into the holster at his side. “I’d stick with the injustice, were I you. More convincin’, t’say th’least. Though not by much.”

Fidavar settled back against the wall, tipping his head back to catch the sky.

“But in the case of Ranshe of the Stables, jus’bout any fecking reason is good’nough.”

And that was the truth. The ‘good man’ this little lassie spoke of was not the first that Ranshe had shot in the back or made the attempt of doing as such. It was something the elder Veir had set aside and for all intents and purposes forgotten about a long time before this day, and his life as of late had been full of dragging skeletons out of his personal closet and digging up the metaphorical graves of the earlier days in this profession.

“Y’hae a name, lass?”

Esther Hadrana

Sep 30th, 2013, 07:44:19 PM

"My name is Esther Hadrana," she said, holding back some of the hope she could feel building up at his admittance of enmity for the moist, maggot-laden piece of filth that was Ranshe of the Stables. A man who felt like that and carried a blaster only needed to be shown his hate, a small push, and he would fire.

"You must not be from this world, whoever you are. Death occurs too frequently and is often unjust. But we... the people here have a soft spot for poetic justice. Ranshe's laughter at killing a good man might convince them to sympathy; his unjust killings are already known, and many have been put to song."

She paused.

"How do you know of Ranshe if you're not from here?" she asked. "He was a member of the Imperial garrison and worked with their vehicles - in the stables, as we don't have a word for garage. There were rumours that he wasn't actually from here, but he speaks so well..."

Fidavar Veir

Sep 30th, 2013, 08:14:39 PM

Her repetition of the fact that he wasn’t a local, not even from this world was a thing he ignored, the repetition making no sense, no necessity. Her words on the matter of poetic justice held a little more purchase on his mind than he let on in his attention and expression. There were many things he had taken a fancy to, a persistent interest, that could have belied that he was primarily, always a man with a view to a kill.

Esther’s question dragged the memories out against his will. Fid leveled his head, taking his eyes away from their upwards gaze to look at the girl again.

“Is’all ain th’credits.” He said plainly. “I know’f Ranshe ‘cause once upon a time, there were credits on ‘is ‘ead, for credits owed, credits unpaid.”

He patted the blaster at his side.

“An’ instead’f puttin’ a ‘ole in ‘is ‘ead, and collectin’ for’t, m’brothar near’bout died of a ‘ole that Ranshe put in ‘im.” He laughed with bitterness, and looked on, no longer at Esther. “I wonder iffin th’bounty is’till on ‘is ‘ead.”

He swung out a hand to the side of the bench that the lass sat upon, his head and eyes following suit.

"M'name's Fidavar Veir, by th'by. Pleasure t'meet ye, Miss Esther Hadrana."

Esther Hadrana

Oct 2nd, 2013, 09:59:47 AM

"And I am pleased to meet you," she replied, standing straight where once she would have curtsied.

"Do you mean to kill Ranshe of the Stables, or must I find someone else?" she asked. She didn't want to be so direct, but she wasn't sure how to go about it in a more elegant way.

Fidavar Veir

Feb 10th, 2014, 01:34:14 PM

Alrigh’. Naw’one f’shakin’ hands.

He withdrew his hand and crossed his arms, giving the girl a fresh, critical eye-over when she pressed the issue of what she… and he were on this gods-forsaken world for.

“Righ’ta business, then.” He stated, flatly. “Dun worry y’pretty lil’ head, missy. I fully inten’ta put one right ‘tween his beady lil’ eyes.”

Fid smirked, and for a moment, wished Ed was there. He didn’t know where his brother was, for all he knew, he’d likely be dead. Swimmin’ wi’th’fishes. If anything, this whole insanity was for him.

“Doubt y’d have much luck findin’ anyone else, otherwise. From wha’ I’ve gathered.”

Esther Hadrana

Feb 14th, 2014, 12:19:45 AM

"It would have been difficult, yes. Not impossible, but difficult. The biggest problem would be in actually killing him. He is gifted in surviving situations that should have killed him."

Esther sat down again, feeling hopeful for the first time in months.

"I do want to be there when you do it. It's not about justice for all his crimes. I want him to pay for his crime against me and Ishak, and I want him to know that was his undoing." She looked at 'Fidavar Veir' intently. "I have five Aurodium (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Aurodium) coins for his death. But if you don't take me along, you'll see not a one."