A Tatooine Wasteland

[Rodi Sivrak]

Tatooine was such a desolate planet. It truly was the farther point from the center of the galaxy. It was the armpit of the Core, that was for sure. If there was a glistening jewel that was considered the shining point of civilization, Tatooine was not it.

But there was a calming nature to the mundane sands and sameness. It settled the spirit and gave a soul some peace. Despite the sandpeople, it afforded enough tranquility anyone could hang their hat on. It was quite. It was uncluttered. There wasn't any 'noise'.

It made him happy.

It helped work, at least.

Rodi Sivrak hated 'noise'. He hated loud extra bits that invariably cluttered all business ventures. But, that was the nice thing about being the boss. You got to pick your clients. You got to look your customer dead in the eye and say yes or no.

Which was what he did now.

The Shistavenan wastelander looked askance at the person across from him, one eye squinted nearly all the way shut.

"Not sure vat I'm gitting from dis deal. Say again for my ears, geh."

[Blacktung]

"Do you have sand in your ears, whelp? It is simple. You pledge allegiance to Waughlord Trax, leave his mark on your door, and give donations of fuel, food, and weapons, and he pledges no harm to you when his waugh party raids these dunes. You would be a fool to not accept Trax's most generous offer."

A discolored tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked the sides of his mouth, along the ritualistic scarring that marked both corners of Flesh Hammer's mouth. Behind him stood two equally poorly dressed individuals, their own grizzly trophies and ridiculous ornamentation setting them apart from the rest of civilization. Flesh Hammer's in particular stood out, with dirty, send encrusted blasters strapped to his legs and a great hammer made out of a duracrete block with a rebar as a handle. It looked like it had been ripped right out of the foundation of a building. From around his neck and the loops in his belt hung unidentifiable chunks of phallic shaped flesh; dried from the suns and crusted with sand.

"Decide, mortal."

[Rodi Sivrak]

Mortal?

Sivrak gave a toothy sneer. He already hated this man. There was no deal, and what this scarred up piece of sandtrash was going on about was just... a waste of time. It was stupid.

"Gi' outta here, man," the Shistavenan snorted, then sidestepped back to his workbench.

"Yor Trax ain' got nottin'. I ain' eva herd of 'im enyways, geh?"

Silence. Sivrak idly picked up a larger-than-normal spanner. He didn't exactly heft it like some weapon, but it was more than obvious that he would if he had to.

"Now. Ahm busy. Y'gots a speeder dat needs werk, Ah'll werk on it. F'not, then Ah ain' wanna look'it you no mores."

[Hallak the Hutt]

The Weequay on the ridge inched backward from the edge on his belly, macrobinoculars held just so to avoid any sort of reflection from either Tatoo 1 or 2. A small holocamera left there transmitted the meeting back to Hutt Castle on the edge of the Northern Dune Sea. Otherwise known as Jabba's Palace, the former monastery had changed hands a few times since the great Hutt's unfortunate demise.

Black Nebula had left things quite the mess when they'd pulled out. And Hallak the Hutt had moved in, the new head of the Desilijic Empire, and heir to the remnants of the disaster Jabba and Gorga had left behind. He was a distant cousin, but wealthy and powerful, and those that had opposed his move hadn't lived long enough to make good on their threats to depose him.

He was also not used to the arid wasteland that was Tatooine. A slave girl poured a bowl of water over his immense body, and the Hutt again wondered why exactly it was that his cousin had set up shop here. Sure, there was a great deal of crime going on, and having some sort of presence on the planet was prudent, but to make it his headquarters? Madness. Grapefruit sized yellow eyes rolled around to watch the holodisplay, a meeting between wastelanders that was of only minor significance. Once the HQ was on Tatooine, however, it was a gundark to try to move operations elsewhere, even if the empire was in shambles and needed propping up.

Once the work was done, however, Hallak would be moving. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He hoomed and fished out a nala tree frog from the dish beside his bulk, flipping it expertly into his mouth.

[Blacktung]

Yellowed, crusty eyes watched the dog man as he held the spanner aloft, as if a mighty sword to cut down the wastelanders. Flesh Hammer laughed, a slowm cackling, and horrid sound that escaped his mouth. Heh. Heh. Heh. Rising in intensity the laughs began to shake his whole body; mouth going slack revealing a maw of broken teeth and metal caps. And then it stopped. The mirth vanished and in it's place a serious mask. "Go ahead. Do it wretch. Kill me and I go to the Forever Lands to ride eternal. If I kill you," He raised the terrible maul and slapped it into his other hand, "You will go to no such paradise. There is only one way to heaven, and that's through the Waughlord.

You will know soon enough. We will be back. Aha!" With a final laugh he backed up, the goons on either shoulder moving with him. Together they stepped out, but not before another threatening look at the dog man. Outside their speeder waited for them. It was an old production unit far beyond warranty and only still found on backwards planets like Tattooine. It was heavily modified. Parts long out of production were fixed with cobbled together parts from other speeders, along with a plethora of spikes, armor plates, and a reinforced windshield. A roped harpoon firing weapon had been attached to the rear.

The noise it made when fired up only compared to the hooping and hollering that escaped their own mouths as they drove away, shaking weapons in the air. They had more business to shake down. Soon Trax would descend on the city and those who did not swear fealty would perish.

[Rodi Sivrak]

An angry snarl as the group left, and Sivrak rolled a small amount of saliva in his mouth before spitting it on the spot that the lowlife and his goons had once been standing.

"Filt'y mynocks," he growled under his breath.

Another long breath of air left his lungs, hissing out between sharp teeth before he grunted and turned to the back of his shop.

"C'mon out den, Zeni! Dey're gone."

A scuffling of feet, and soon enough a nervous young Shistavenan girl crept out from behind a broken down speeder.

Dey out?"

"Dey out."

Though only for now.

Sivrak waved his spanner at her as he fixed his young daughter with a sharp gaze.

"You jes' stay careful, eh? Ain't no goods come from dem sandtrash. An' keep yor ear sharp less'n dey come back."