Zereth Lancer
Jul 15th, 2013, 04:35:02 PM
"This ryll looks lackluster. Mixed with filler ingredients, and poorly at that. Did you simply scoop whatever you had on hand into the bag? I wanted to get high, not die. Show me the real product before I personally call Luco the Hutt and let him know that there is a little git down here selling cheap ryll mixed with dirt on his There's a good lad. Here's your credits. I hope you have somewhere to hide, because those gentleman at the end of the lane have been eyeballing you and talking into their comms this entire exchange. Off you go."
The slimey man hit the ground running, and in response the two thugs at the end of the streets with their long coats, shaded glasses, and expensively elaborate haircuts went chasing after him. Zereth Lancer turned from the spectacle and, with a slight flourish of his hand, caused the bag of the finest ryll to disappear from sight. Safely tucking it away in a deep pocket did not fully mask the shame he felt to even have the illegal substance on his person. But this was Nar Shaddaa. The smuggler moon. Vertical city. Everyone was doing something wrong. Lowering his own shaded glasses his dark red eyes could spy all sorts of illicit activities happening all around him. In a single lane he spied drug dealing, prostitution, and weapon sales. Even the movements of a killer as he stalked his prey. As one predator to another he recognized the stance, the focus, the coiled muscles underneath his coat. Ready to strike, eager, excited, and barely in control. There would come a moment, the perfect one, to strike.
Zereth turned away from all of that. He had a uniform with a patch on the shoulder lost in a locker somewhere, never worn, but that didn't mean that he thought for a second that it was his job to be a universal lawman here to clean up Nar Shaddaa. He had a job to do, a mission. It was so strange a word. He had carried out and completely many objectives while serving the Sith Order, but never had he considered those missions. They had just been tasks on a bulletin board for galactic domination. His world had taken a complete turn, be it for the better or worse. He had not determined yet. Somehow by inserting himself into the armies of the righteous he had managed to hide his own darkness. The New Republic had no idea just what he was, but he had a positive track record since Asha had picked him as her partner.
And there she was now. Waiting for him just around the corner. She hardly resembled the practically naked wild thing he found in the woods so long ago. Neither did she resemble an intelligence officer of the New Republic. They were in disguise, and rightly so. This was Hutt space and they didn't take kindly to envoys from either side of the conflict. However, their spineless neutrality created a safe haven here for anyone wanted by either side, or both. That was why they were here, to catch a Rebel traitor who had tried to sell secrets that might have completely changed the outcome of the Galactic Civil War. Instead he was chased to the edges of the 'verse for years, afraid to show his face. New intel placed him here. Where bounty hunters failed they would succeed. Together both he and Asha brought their own unique talents to the operation.
"I was unable to locate anyone who knew anything about Sloan." He informed Asha as he stepped out of the light into the shadow of a locked doorway. Down here below the surface it was all tunnels. He hated being underground, but it did create all kinds of wonderful shadows and crevices in which to hide and stalk. With the eyes of an assassin he saw only opportunities. His own clothing had been left behind in favor of something more fitting the lifestyle of the planet. His red cloak was replaced with a jacket with more zippers and buckles than necessary, his hair pulled back into a loose pony tail. He looked the part of the street patron, the kind that hops from one bar to another and enjoys synthetic music with loud bass drops. Everything had silver accents, even his shoes. It was very uncomfortable, and he had grown tired of humoring the females that tried to get his attention.
"Did you find any leads?"
The slimey man hit the ground running, and in response the two thugs at the end of the streets with their long coats, shaded glasses, and expensively elaborate haircuts went chasing after him. Zereth Lancer turned from the spectacle and, with a slight flourish of his hand, caused the bag of the finest ryll to disappear from sight. Safely tucking it away in a deep pocket did not fully mask the shame he felt to even have the illegal substance on his person. But this was Nar Shaddaa. The smuggler moon. Vertical city. Everyone was doing something wrong. Lowering his own shaded glasses his dark red eyes could spy all sorts of illicit activities happening all around him. In a single lane he spied drug dealing, prostitution, and weapon sales. Even the movements of a killer as he stalked his prey. As one predator to another he recognized the stance, the focus, the coiled muscles underneath his coat. Ready to strike, eager, excited, and barely in control. There would come a moment, the perfect one, to strike.
Zereth turned away from all of that. He had a uniform with a patch on the shoulder lost in a locker somewhere, never worn, but that didn't mean that he thought for a second that it was his job to be a universal lawman here to clean up Nar Shaddaa. He had a job to do, a mission. It was so strange a word. He had carried out and completely many objectives while serving the Sith Order, but never had he considered those missions. They had just been tasks on a bulletin board for galactic domination. His world had taken a complete turn, be it for the better or worse. He had not determined yet. Somehow by inserting himself into the armies of the righteous he had managed to hide his own darkness. The New Republic had no idea just what he was, but he had a positive track record since Asha had picked him as her partner.
And there she was now. Waiting for him just around the corner. She hardly resembled the practically naked wild thing he found in the woods so long ago. Neither did she resemble an intelligence officer of the New Republic. They were in disguise, and rightly so. This was Hutt space and they didn't take kindly to envoys from either side of the conflict. However, their spineless neutrality created a safe haven here for anyone wanted by either side, or both. That was why they were here, to catch a Rebel traitor who had tried to sell secrets that might have completely changed the outcome of the Galactic Civil War. Instead he was chased to the edges of the 'verse for years, afraid to show his face. New intel placed him here. Where bounty hunters failed they would succeed. Together both he and Asha brought their own unique talents to the operation.
"I was unable to locate anyone who knew anything about Sloan." He informed Asha as he stepped out of the light into the shadow of a locked doorway. Down here below the surface it was all tunnels. He hated being underground, but it did create all kinds of wonderful shadows and crevices in which to hide and stalk. With the eyes of an assassin he saw only opportunities. His own clothing had been left behind in favor of something more fitting the lifestyle of the planet. His red cloak was replaced with a jacket with more zippers and buckles than necessary, his hair pulled back into a loose pony tail. He looked the part of the street patron, the kind that hops from one bar to another and enjoys synthetic music with loud bass drops. Everything had silver accents, even his shoes. It was very uncomfortable, and he had grown tired of humoring the females that tried to get his attention.
"Did you find any leads?"