Monster's Ball

[Marion Cember]

Monster's Ball. An open season on black market products for a two day stint. It started tomorrow, and here Cember was left with at least thirty kilos of spice to get rid of. His strategy, simple. Make the most of his buck now, and then use the money received from said goods in order to buy more at a lower cost. Talk about profit.

Cember surveyed the crowd for gullible patrons. He was aware that this was a Jedi bar, and therefore did not expect much business, but he decided to stay for the next forty minutes or so. This was merely another stop, for the duration of what would be a long night. He had bled the local bars dry, and the Sith establishment was his next target.

[Jacen Himes]

Leaning on the bar like a draped glittersilk drape, Jacen Himes eyed Marion Cember. His costume, stowed away under his suit, was shunted aside in favor of a well tailored suit. His alias for the moment was "Wook Skankish Rustybucket."

"This beer sucks," he said to the bartender. "I should know. I'm head of Rustybucket Breweries. If it ain't Rusty quality, it ain't worth drinking."

Monsters Ball. He'd heard of it. Of course he wasn't in the business of buying or selling anything but ammo and services, respectively. However, he did know how to haggle. If he could buy something cheap today, because of the harsh selling waves that swirled before these two days, he could sell it after the dust had cleared. Buying cheap products on Monsters Ball was suicide. Cuthroat handymen from the Hutts, Black Sun, and Talon Karrde's bunch would come prepared with blasters to "differ" potential competition in the buyout contests. Buying before this gloriously "rich get richer, poor get poorer" sceme was the smartest thing to endeavour apon.

"Hi there, little guy."

Jacen extended his hand.

"How would you like a handbag of...." his eyes darted to the eavesdropping NRSF soldiers, stationed about. "...stuff?"

[Marion Cember]

Cember shook Jacen's hand.

"Stuff... No. I'm actually looking to dump some stuff, myself. About thirty kilos worth."

[Jacen Himes]

Casually pulling away his hand, he wiped it on his leg.

"That's a no go, small fry. I don't like the glint in your eye. I'm an honest business man, looking for a chance in this big crazy world. You look like a closet schitzomaniac."

Jacen had grown fond of Wook. He was so clever.

"However, I do know of a dastardly dude who just happens to be buying. I'm selling, he's buying, you should talk to him. I am in no way connected to him. If it ain't Rusty quality...."

He leaned in.

"Okay, cut the crap. What're you selling, munchkin?"

[Marion Cember]

Cember leaned back as Jacen drew near him.

"Mostly spice. I have some weaponary, but it's not much to speak of. Some blasters. A few hand helds--grenades, other gadgets.
But mostly spice."

He looked at Jacen for a moment, mind wondering. He picked up his drink, raised it to his lips.

"I have a question. Why are you buying? Did you not get the memo or something?"

[Jacen Himes]

This one was a slow one off the ticker.

"Okay... what?"

Jacen pulled away.

"How dare you! I do not want to buy illegal substances nor death sticks!"

Then, leaning in, he slipped him a small datapad. Scribbled on it was "gimme five minutes to get my contact here bubby." He'd deftly written it during their entire convo. Still close to him, he wispered.

"Don't ask so many questions, mini-slim. I'm buying, your selling. A match made in hell. Later squeaky."

Then, he rushed outside in a quick step. Now, to change.....