Under the skin (open)

[Priscilla Sato]

Making a living on Coruscant was sometimes a prickly business. Lack of available real estate was an obvious concern, but besides this it was difficult to find a market not already cornered by the nearly limitless workforce already in place, and the NR beauracracy perennially kept some of the planet's more...enterprising individuals down, in the gutters and out of sight.

However, it is the consistent practice of those who are kept down to persist in secret until they have clawed their way to the top. If they are very lucky, they can climb unnoticed until the proper authorities for handling them have suddenly become their subordinates.

Untold numbers had risen in this way. Who could remember, in the wash of glittering pomp, that the stunningly beautiful Senator was once infamous for assets which had nothing to do with her political mind? Who now chose to recall the subtle whispers of money changing hands when the chairman of Coruscant's most prominent pharmaceutical distributor sought the exclusive patronage of Coruscant's most wealthy doctors?

These minor misgivings were, of course, of no consequence, now. Who was going to argue with a Senator or a massive drug corporation? It was better simply to blink and smile these doubts away now, and grudgingly try harder in future to crack down on current lowlifes with delusions of grandeur.

All of which made Pris Sato's life that much more difficult a challenge.

But then, Pris had no "delusions of grandeur." Rather, she had plans for it, well-laid and well-executed ones several years in the brewing. No one but she knew of these plans, not even the very few business partners she kept in confidence for the purposes of furthering her lucrative trade.

By careful design, however, no one would ever have known of her profitable sidelines unless she divulged the information herself. Which she did only to the most deserving of potential customers.

Unfortunately, this did not apply to the great smelly boar of a humanoid currently sitting in front of her; nor did it apply to the vast majority of the bodies who shuffled in and out of the dingy tattoo parlor every day to look for the Dragon-hand of the Yakuza District, Pris Sato. Whatever they came here for, whether to boost their bragging credential or to fill their spiritual void with self-expression or simply to satisfy a masochistic appetite for pain, was not Pris's concern, unless she could see that taking an interest in the individual would equal a more substantial business deal later.

The leather-clad monstrosity oozing over the edges of her parlor chair at the moment was of no such value to Pris, so she didn't mind jabbing a little too hard with the needle currently inscribing "F--- Off" in Rodian into the bulging fat of his arm. Inebriated as he was, he barely seemed to notice.

"'Ey, now," he slurred, his bleary eyes rolling lazily toward her needle-hand. "A little more tender on me arm. Ah'm sens'tive. Or do Ah need t'prove it t'ya a li'l bit, doll?" One greasy, pudgy hand groped in the direction of Pris's left breast.

She nimbly swayed backward, lifting the ink needle in warning. "Your price just went up by fifteen creds, for the pleasure of getting even that close," she hissed in a voice remarkably gruff and ashy for such a young face and body. "Try it again and I'll be demonstrating the tenderness of my needle in your brain." Standing smoothly, she swiped at the last pool of ink with a stained rag and set the needle machine on the tray next to her.

"Get up, you're done," she commanded, leaning over to smack a self-stick gauze patch to the seeping spot. "Eighty credits."

She handed the man a datapad so that he could transfer the funds from his account to hers. As he raised his bulk from the chair, however, his weathered, baggy face grew grimly confused.

"Eighty? Th' agreement was f'r..." He paused a moment, trying to remember. "...was f'r sixty-five."

"And you charged fifteen more to your tab, Grumm, thirty seconds ago. You owe me eighty credits."

The grim confusion in Grumm's cloudy eyes was gradually sharpening into anger. He threw the datapad down on the front counter and growled, "Ah don' owe you a thing." Whereupon he started shuffling toward the door.

Pris felt her anger rise, flushing her cheeks. Her instinct was to go for the blaster under the counter and force the money out of him, but she knew Bernerd Grumm was a Flamethrower, and she couldn't afford to have the entire gang down on her head for pointing a gun at one of their buddies.

"Grumm, you stop right there, or you can go back to Meth and tell him he can stop sending his people over here. You really wanna go tell your boss you ticked me off over just one tattoo?"

It was a gamble--Grumm was not exceptionally bright in any case, and drunk he was even stupider, so if he so much as grunted in reply it'd be a miracle, and he was more likely to turn around and cuff her head right off her shoulders. Still, Meth was most frightening to his own people, and even Grumm had to know that the Flamethrowers were getting more from Sato's parlor than just good tattoos. She hoped his boss's terrifying ire would be enough deterrent to weasle the eighty creds out of his cheap leather pants.

The massive humanoid turned his head a little and fixed his beady eye on the young woman behind him. Then he turned fully and stumped a step closer, lowering.

"You wouldn't say a thing to him, if y'knew what I could come over here and do t'you." His fat fingers clenched ominously.

Pris was just trying to judge the space remaining between her and that blaster when the door to the parlor swung open and a tall, thin man with black hair and blacker eyes stepped in. The red light of the parlor's holosign outside--Dragon's Fang--shone in his hair and threw his high cheekbones and taut arm muscles into relief.

Instantly he saw the burly Flamethrower towering over the compact female, and next moment his switchblade was open in his hand.

"Problem, Pris?" he murmured, a wan smile on his face.

"Dunno," she replied, trying not to let her relief be obvious. "Ask Grumm, here."

The man canted his head, his eyes narrowing. The tip of the switchblade rubbed slowly up and down the outer seam of his jeans in a sharpening motion. "Whatcha say, Grumm. Is there a problem, here?"

The Flamethrower's reaction was as immediate as it was uncharacteristic. Seeming to deflate, Grumm hastily backed away from both Sato and the newcomer, his eyes filled with fear.

"N-nah, man, I...I was just..."

"Eighty credits, Grumm, and you can walk." Pris's voice was level, now.

The big man grunted, bobbing his head. "Sure, sure thing, girly, here." He seized the datapad, punched the obligatory keys, then dropped the thing like a burning coal and scuffed as quickly as he could move out the door, giving the thin young man a wide berth.

As soon as the door had clattered shut behind him, Pris relaxed. She glanced pointedly at the two other girls in the parlor, who had been staring in wide-eyed anxiety as the scene unfolded. Now they hurriedly looked away and went back to whatever it was they were doing.

The young man's switchblade had disappeared, and his cool smile broadened a fraction.

"'Lo, Pris," he said, drawing close to her. His long fingers trailed down the exposed skin of her left side. "What was that about?"

The girl shook her head and moved behind the counter. "Them frelling Flamethrowers are always causing trouble around here. They love to try to skip out on their bill, if they can manage it." She raised her eyes and tossed him a smile. "What brings you here this time of day, Sho?"

The young man was lighting a cigarette. Taking a drag, he tossed his black bangs out of his face and leaned against the wall. The muscles of his shoulders and arms made the vibrant, swirling tattoos covering the skin seem to move.

"Yuto says he needs the new shipment now. Can't wait for Friday. Says our supplies are too low."

The momentary lightening of Pris's face disappeared, and her mouth flattened into a businesslike line. Her brows drew down.

"You need to tell Yuto to go easy on those dyes. I don't just find 'em laying around in the street. Some of them can take months to get here. Which ones are you short?"

"Blue and black, mostly. He says green and red can wait til next time."

This talk of tattoo dye was, of course, for the other shopgirls' benefit.

You need to tell Yuto to stop handing out drugs like candy. These are impossible to get smuggled in. You're lucky I even have them on hand. Which are you low on?

Glitterstim and deathsticks, mostly...

Pris's eyes were emotionless, but the muscles around her mouth tightened in displeasure. "Lot of new customers?" she drawled sarcastically.

Shoichiro's eyes narrowed. Smoke curled out his nose, making him resemble nothing so much as a dragon waiting to eat its unwitting prey.

"If Yuto'd wanted you to know that, he'd have come himself. I'm here to pick up the shipment. You want me to take a message back?"

It was a threat, not a request. Keep your mouth shut and just fork over the goods. Yuto isn't the only one who doesn't need your smart mouth.

Pris did not like being threatened, but in this case she'd have to put up with it. Her authority was nowhere near enough to question Yuto or his mafia men. She nodded curtly and, producing a key from her pocket, turned and unlocked the back-room door.

The dim light guttered on automatically as she entered. When Shoichiro had followed her in, she shut the door and navigated through the stacks of boxes until she reached a group of crates at the back of the room.

"Here, these are the ones," she muttered, crossing her arms.

Sho glanced at her, then crouched down, his black tanktop stretching. The kabuki mask tattooed across his back peered up at Pris from just above the collar. She remembered the trouble it had been to get the eyes the correct hue, to get them to look as lifelike as she could. The tattoo was still a masterpiece, even a year later.

The man had pried open the crate marked MIDNIGHT BLUE and plucked a small jar of ink from inside. Unscrewing the cap, he eyed the dropper affixed to the inside of the lid. Carefully he grabbed the dropper and screwed it off. A small crumple of plastic peeked out from inside. Nodding, he put the dropper back into its spot, replaced the cap on the jar, and plinked the jar back into the crate.

"All there?" Pris snapped acidly. How dare he check up on her...

Almost before she realized he'd moved, Shoichiro was on his feet and had her backed against the wall, almost pinned there by his hips.

"I do what is necessary, Hebi," he breathed. Pris swallowed but kept her face level. Her eyes were focused on a design of red and yellow dye curling over his collarbone. "It's best if you didn't take too much interest in how I do it."

He leaned forward a handful of inches and brushed his lips over hers. Pris exhaled shakily, but before she could properly respond, she heard the clatter of the front door opening, and stiffened.

"I've got customers," she said, finally looking Sho in the eye. His cold black eyes closed and he shrugged indifferently, backing away from Pris. She slid past the man, leaving him to his shipment of "dye," and opened the door again, slipping her no-nonsense demeanor firmly back into place before she set foot into the main parlor.

[Zachariah Jak'el]

Through the door walked a tall man with short dark hair and eyes that appeared to be a shade of cold grey. He wore several layers of black clothing and light body armor. A blaster sat in a holder on each hip and a knife in his belt. Everything about his made him look dangerous and not one to mess with. A man who had just finished getting a tattoo and was heading out the door; looking up and noticed the tattoo that covered part of the stranger's forehead. The man mouthed something and headed out of the building in a quickened pace.

Xel-Naga paid no attention to the man as he passed him and procceded to walk up to the front counter. A woman stepped out of the back as he arrived at the counter. He cuaght a glimpse of the back room but saw nothing more then a man crouched over a crate. He paid it no attention aswell and turned to the woman. "Hello," He said in a cold voice, "I need a tattoo " He said plainly. He had just gotten a new "job" and nothing made you feel better then adding a new tattoo to your collection. He had already created a design himself and all he needed was someone to slap it onto his arm.

He dropped a datapad onto the counter. On the screen was the image he had created. It a picture of an eye. The eye's color matched that of his own and a strange design surounded the eye aswell as a drop of blood that flowed down from the eye. "Do you think you can do this?"

[Priscilla Sato]

All business, now, Pris nodded once.

"You don't know whose shop you've come to, have you?" she jibed mildly. "Satisfaction unconditionally guaranteed."

She took the datapad in one slim hand and motioned for the man to sit in the nearest empty parlor chair as she moved to the shelf holding rows and rows of ink bottles and began to select the right colors. Glancing at the datapad screen, Pris squinted in momentary hesitation. That was a really remarkable shade of grey he had used for the interior of the design, a mercurial gunmetal grey almost impossible to pinpoint exactly. Shrugging, Pris plucked up every possible color she might use to combine to get the right hue. Turning back and setting down her supplies, she picked up the tattoo machine and began stripping out the used needles, replacing them with sterile ones from the tray at her elbow.

She took a cursory look upward at the patron sitting in front of her. He was well-tattooed, sporting at least two or three whose artistry Pris wouldn't have minded examining more closely, had she the freedom to do so. But he wasn't a gang member, at least not in this part of Coruscant. She doubted he was the type to subject himself to any kind of gang; he didn't have the look of a man who would willingly subordinate himself to someone, anyone, else.

She also noticed, interestedly, that the inspiration for the elusive color of his tattoo had come from his own eye color. Pris filed that away for later interpretation. Could be pride. Could be ego. Could be self-loathing. She found herself uncharacteristically wondering as to which of the many possibilities it really was.

"You're not from around here," Pris said, keeping her tone dispassionate. Didn't want the stranger to think she was prying unduly. "Don't recall that I've ever seen you before. And I know I've never seen a tattoo quite like that." She motioned to the brand on his forehead as she slipped a pair of gloves over her hands. "Mind telling me where you got it? Unfamiliar tats are a mild obsession for me, being an artist and all."

[Zachariah Jak'el]

"I don't spent much time on Corascant. It's more difficult for me to carry out my 'business' on this planet. I prefere the life on the smaller, outer rim planets." Xel said. The Design (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v51/kylekrogen/Mark-of-the-Naga.jpg) on his forehead was nothing really. A symbol he created at the start of his career. "The beauty on my forehead was done by a man on Corellia by the name of Drexel Kane. He might still be in the tattooing business if he didn't stop to persue his other 'businesses' to greater detail" Xel didn't mention what those other businesses were. Selling drugs and weapons, organizing and hosting illegal dinko fights aswell as illegal shock boxing. Drexel Kane had tought Xel have the things he knew and he looked up to the man. He hadn't seen Drexen in years but he assumed the old man was still around.

[Tear]

"God forsaken piece of," The string of curses echoed down one of the many busy streets on Coruscant.

"Sit still you bantha!" The tip of his shoe was pointed down digging and wiping away some dirt that had gathered. The rags werent complying. Probably due to the fact the homeless man wearing them rejected to the idea of being a cloth.

Thump. The kick settled the dirty old man. "What the frell. I think you got them dirtier." The man flashed a quizzicle look at the sicklee old homeless person. Cringing, he gave his shoe one last wipe before continuing on his way.

Not alot of people, business types especially, made their way to the under belly of coruscant. White marble walk ways werent abundent here the only thing for show were the gang tags that were etched into the walls every block or two.

Black suit, shiny shoes, well trimmed, he was eyed by every shady character he passed by. But two things that every street thug kept in princible, the smart ones did anyway. If they arent afraid of you, you should be afraid of them.

A small data card slipped into view from the mans coat pocket. A glance to the building infront then to the data pad again for good measure. "Here we are."

"Evening im looking for a Ms.Santonelli." The man had barely entered the building before speaking. Crossing his feet he leaned against the nearest wall. His blue eyes watched for the first person to react to the name.

[Priscilla Sato]

Pris was about to make a polite but dispassionate closing remark as to her client's statement--while the tat was interesting, and the gravity of the artist's other occupations was not lost on Pris's code-trained ears, it was not so noteworthy as to warrant further probing--when the front door was budged open. Pris had to try hard not to either run for the back door or jump for her blaster at the first sight of the stranger's well-tailored look. That kind of garb in this kind of establishment in this part of town spelled possible severe trouble, and made Pris very suspicious, and very nervous.

As it was, the woman stiffened as she glanced up at the man. Her mind was working very fast even as she heard his question and digested it. Keeping her face very level, she loaded a jar of black ink into the needle gun and shook her head fractionally.

"This isn't an info kiosk, mister. I'm the owner of this tattoo parlor, and unless you're here to get tattooed, branded, or pierced, maybe you'd better move up a couple of levels and find a Coruscant PR service droid." Pris neatly grabbed up her transaction pad and punched a few keys to tabulate her client's tab. She darted another disinterested glance up at the newcomer in her doorway.

"'Sides, for what it's worth, I don't know that name." Have heard it somewhere before, but don't know who it is. "Nobody around here has a name like that. Sounds to me like you're in the wrong district. Try over in Santiago."

[Jimmy]

'6000, no less, and that is only because i work for you're Boss' Said Troy, a few blocks away, his eyes narrowing towards the larger man infront of him. 'You wish to argue, take it up with my Kris, i'm sure he would disagree all the same'

'Who's dis' Kris fella'?'

The big man was about to argue but cocked a glint out the corner of his eye, a passing speeder has shone it up with its headlights, Grumm looked down.

Troy tapped the inside leg of the large man with the tip of a blade, inches from his manhood, an instant deal closer for any situation. The Larger man nodded instantly without a word. The meeting was situated just infront of a large adertisment billboard, irony was sweet. 'Coco Bloodbank' read the billboard 'We need your help'

Perhaps the operators of such a place would venture into the establishment tonight to suck up the remains of those within the parlour who knew? The larger man, grunted dumbly and forced a credit chit pad into Troys free hand before turning and walking back towards his speeder. A grim smiled played across Troys' lips like a violin, a master stroke.

'Jus' kill'er will yus'?'

'What else did you pay me for?' Troy said in an undertone to which Grumm clearly did not hear, the big man jumped into his speeder and took off into the conjestion, Troy looked across the skyway and down into the distance where the tatto parlour was,

Tonight it seemed, it would not be red ink that was going to spill and stain the floor.

[Jasper Makimachi]

Jasper knew that this was probably going to be the last time Pris actually acted as if she didn't give a damn about her showing up twenty minutes late but this time it had been very important, unlike the other times. She pulled the cruiser behind the parlor and hopped off, her favorite black cargo pants blowing in the breeze as a gust of wind chilled her arms as she pulled off her leather jacket knowing she'd be sweating in no time.

She saw the bright lights of the parlor as she opened up the back door and walked down the dim hallway into the shop where she heard the buzz of Pris' needle, the time for cold feet no longer an option for those who heard that noise, how she hated those who did that to her.

"Sorry!" She said loudly, tossing her jacket onto a barstool hidden behind the counter, not caring about who was present. "Aiko was causing trouble, again. Not only did she want to come with me but, the goddamn sitter didn't show." How she hated unreliable people, which is why she would be apologizing all night long for her tardiness.

Jasper looked up to see a man sitting in the chair and another standing nearby wearing clothes that told her he was needing something other than a tattoo. The heat was already rising in the room and it was easy to see that Pris was not very happy with his prescense. Jasper looked at Pris and frowned, wondering if perhaps he had already worn out his welcome in the Dragon's Fang and needed to be "escorted" off the premises, in the most "kindest" way.

"Has he been helped?"

[Priscilla Sato]

Pris nearly jumped as Jasper blew into the room with her usual flair. Pris dimly noted that her coworker was late--again--but at this juncture that was the least of the tattooist's worries.

As a matter of fact, Jasper's sudden appearance had the effect of somewhat defusing the situation, cracking Pris out of her momentary stiffness in response to the well-dressed man's sudden enquiry. Pris looked back at her right-hand shopgirl, noticing the satisfactorily alert comprehension in her liner-drenched eyes, and nodded fractionally, letting her gaze do the talking.

No problem yet, but keep your guard up.

"Yes, he has. I think he was probably just about to leave." Pris returned her pointed glare to the figure haunting her doorway. "He got the wrong place, apparently."

[Zachariah Jak'el]

Xel had no idea who the man was but he looked like trouble. His face did not protray his thoughts as his hand slipped over his leg and rested on the handle of his blaster. He could feel the trouble brewing and there was only a thin thread seperating this calm night from becoming a bloody brawl.

"Try the tavern down the street, The Hapen Princess. Plenty of good informants there. I'm sure someone there will be able to help you find this person you asked for."

[Tear]

"Oh, are you sure? Could have sworn this was the right place." He removed the data card from his coat pocket again staring at it as if it was some trivial street address. The image on the data card matched the owners face exactly. He knew he had the right place before he asked for the wrong name.

A devlish smile curled over the mans pink lips. He simply stood, laying against the back wall, watching the workings of the tiny tatoo parlor. "Busy little place you have here...miss?" She was nervous...

He moved, taking one step then two. He moved slow and any criminal could tell he was sizing the three of them up. The sharply dressed man was hunting, for what, he was sure she didnt know but was nervously awaiting the answer.

The man stopped beside the new girl. His icy blue eyes looked her up and down before rolling up his sleeve. "As for tatoos, if you can find a place a might let you brand me. For the right price" His arm was covered with an alien tribal pattern that wound down from his forearms and over most of his body.

His shoes scraped over spots of dirt every now and then as he circled around Priscilla. Leaning over he brushed the tip of his dirty shoe using the action to hide a glance at Sato's client. An obvious thug, a nervous one at that, his had was openly resting on his blaster.

"The Hapens Princess hey? You think they would know of a..." He glanced at the data card again as if the font was terribly difficult to read. "Satonell-...oh wait these damn things." The man pressed a few buttons and smiled cruely as he looked directly at Priscilla, "A Ms.Sato?"

[Jimmy]

It was without warning, not one single occupant of the parlour had chance to even rearlize or think about what was about to happen. Yet another gust of wind was felt but this time it would not be a friendly patron who would enter. First, set a on very short timers two chrome type spheres rolled through the threshold of the establishment and in an instant exploded.

One cylinder was a flashbang sending a bliding light throughout the room like a strike of lightning, peircing the calm tranquality of the parlour, the second cylinder exploded moments after sending a shaft of billowing smoke into the already tormented silence. it was a fraction after this that the weilder of the cylinders entered, armed with duel slug throwers, Troy entered.

Suited and booted.

One hand gun was pointed towards Xel-Naga and in the speed of a machine pistol, let roar a hail of slugs in his direction, and while Xel-Naga was blinded by the light would he be able to avoid the velocity of slugs pelting in his direction? Tear, who had been beside the door was slammed into hard by the durasteel door, his head cracking horribley against the metal and sending him in the oposite direction to Troy who was now aiming his other machine pistol at Pris.

wham wham wham wham wham

The woman, who was simply armed with a Ink Gun had now a contingent of slugs heading her way and while his right handed machine pistol fired, troy walked in casualy, his left pistol being reloaded even as he fired alternatly.

[Priscilla Sato]

Pris had just time to register cold fear chasing up her spine as Tear murmured her name with a vulpine grin before the front door opened again--the shop was uncommonly busy today, she couldn't help wryly thinking--and a small movement at the floor drew her eyes away from the well-dressed stranger.

Two grenades, rolling across the threshold.

Pris dropped the needle gun and dived behind the parlor chair, leaving the shadowy Xel-Naga to look after himself. As the flashbang exploded, she buried her head under her arms.

Then she heard the the metallic clack, like thunderclaps in the confused shuffle of the ambushed parlor, of guns.

DAMN!! screamed Pris's voice in her head. No, no, no, this could not be happening. She was two yards away from her blaster and the only weapon at her immediate disposal was her needle machine, which probably couldn't even inflict a fatal wound. Oh, this was so bad. She needed to get herself and Jasper armed, or they were dead.

Suddenly the room burst apart with the roar of gunfire, and Pris scrambled, sliding her feet under her and lunging for the shelf of inks a few feet to her left. Bullets rained over her head and whizzed by her ears, and with a feral screech, she seized the shelf and knocked it over with a spectacular crash.

"Kiken!!" Pris screamed in alarm, and then suddenly the door to the back room burst open and a storm of blaster fire rocketed out as a screen.

Pris struggled to her feet and lurched toward the back hallway and the extra blaster she kept near the backdoor.

[Jasper Makimachi]

Goddamn it! Jasper thought to herself as she was quick to take cover behind the counter and hold her hands over her head as the shop suddenly became a show of lights and loud blasts. She was shocked beyond words when she saw a few holes made in front of her face from where the man was quickly shooting in a continous curving motion, not wanting anyone to be left behind alive.

She had no clue what was going on with Pris let alone the people in the shop, she was just glad that it was a day of offenses against her boss. Not only was she late, and entered the room working her foul vocabulary, she had also brought a gun in her jacket. Jasper turned as quickly as she could and stood on her knees reaching for the blaster inside her jacket. She was quick to feel her natural endorphines take over, a rush of orgasmic energy taking over every part of her body as she grabbed the gun by its cold handle and stood up, firing away at the mans direction, her mouth hanging open as if this were some sort of sadistic experience.

"Pris!" She called out above the gunfire, hoping her ears would catch it all. "You better be making your way to some guns to let this prick know who he just messed with!"

[Zachariah Jak'el]

When the door burst open again and when he caught the first glimpse of something metal flying through the door, Xel rolled out of his seat and landed on the opposite side of it then the would be assassin. The bullets flew in all directions and one managed to hit Xel in the shoulder. He looked down at his shoulder and the hole through his shirt. He stuck a finger into the hole and felt the colt metal underneath him. "Good thing I Never leave without my body armor." He wispered before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a small exposive grenade of his own and throwing it over the parlor chair he had just been sitting in and towards the assassin.

[Tear]

Just goes to show how uncivilized these people are.

Small, bouncing, metallic balls? "Bugger." Was the only word that escaped the mans lips before he raised his arm in time to catch the flash that poured in anyway. He winced in pain, although thankful it hadnt been a grenade. Blinking uncomfertably the man started to peel off against the wall like old paint when the door suddenly exploded inward, clipping the side of his head.

Tink tink. A grenade. "Well Frell."

This job was quickly becoming more trouble then it was worth. A smart leather shoe slammed against the wall giving the business man the enteria to roll back behind the parlor chair. Looks like i have company.

"How ya doin?" The question left his lips a single moment before the explosion rocked the area behind him. Blaster fire erupted from the back, no doubt the owner.

Tear glanced sidelong at Jasper just a few feet away. She looks like shes enjoying herself far too much, he thought before settling in behind the chair. He was in no hurry to make a move...yet.

[Rhea Kaylen]

DELETE (I'm so sorry, Rhea auto-signs in. My apologies.)

[Priscilla Sato]

The blaster fire erupting from the back room, while not the owner's immediate doing, was most certainly beneficial to her. Pris slammed clumsily into the wall as she skidded to a stop, one heavy boot lashing out again and again into the metal of the small lockbox affixed to the wall beside the alleyway door. The relatively flimsy metal crumpled and the lid bent sufficiently for Pris to gain purchase with her thin fingers and prize the box open.

She plunged her hands inside, wrapping them around the cool metal and plastic inside, then turned and dashed back up the hallway, jamming the power cartridge into the blaster as quickly as humanly possible.

When she was mere feet from the front room of the parlor, she threw herself against the near wall of the corridor and craned her head to peek out. Instantly she had to duck back again to avoid the sizzle of a stray bullet flying toward her head. As soon as she sensed a clear shot, she opened fire through the dissipating smoke.

"Take that, you son of a Hutt!!" she yelled, her teeth gritted. "Jasper!" she called to her friend. "Keep covered, I can't see you!"

Suddenly another bullet--damn slugs, why didn't this barbarian use blasters like any normal person?--clipped Pris's leg, shredding the fabric of her pants and grazing her hip. She yowled; it hurt like all frell. Her leg trembled in response but she kept her foot firmly planted.

Whoever this guy was, he was wrecking her shop and trying to kill her. If she ever found out who he was working for, she swore to herself she would roll them over to the cops so fast it'd make their heads spin.

[Jasper Makimachi]

Some how over the hail of gunfire and explosions she was able to find her name thrown in, Pris' voice allowed her to at least mentally vision where she was. She ducked behind the counter and was quick to take a breather when a bullet whipped by her head and whizzed by her ear in the hiss it projected.

"Damn it!" She said to herself as she leaned against the hard material of the counter, glancing towards the entrance of the hall seeing Pris peer out for a second, the smoke causing the room to go dim and vision to be blurred.

Who the hell was this guy and why the hell did everyone suddenly seem to pile in? One thing Jasper knew, the men in the shop were all seemingly looking for one person, Priscilla Sato. The only question on her mind, aside from the fact as to if she was going to see some blood, was why they were all targeting her.

"You go it, babe!" Jasper finally replied after sitting for too long, the energy and rush of the moment being wasted. She bit her lower lip and stood up again, shooting at the man who still continuously bombarded the parlor with his ridiculously accessible arsenal of weapons.

Jasper was able to glance around the room for a moment only to find a man hunkering behind a chair, why kind of person walked around Coruscant without being properly armed in some way, shape, or form?