Stacking the Odds

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

Any interested fourth party can join in to round out the team.

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Jovan. What an interesting place. A space station with all the comforts of home; shops, organizations, and military oversight. It was a might bit more civilized than Bespin; at least in the sense that it was much less likely to get jumped by a bunch of thugs. It was hardly the sparkling utopia the military leaders no doubt thought it was. There was black market goods, drugs, and smut being peddling on the corners and in the shops. You just had to know where and what to look for. It wasn't all hidden behind closed doors. The true businessmen sold their drek right under the noses of the Cizeracks. All it needed was a few chrome peddlers, mega corps, and chop shops and it would be just like back home on Nar Shaddaa.

Which incidentally was where he was going back to very soon.

A flick of his finger send the half smoked stim pinwheeling into the air like a little fiery ferris wheel. Pulling back the sleeve on his trench coat he checked the time on the chrono strapped to his wrist. Not time yet. Stuffing his hands back into the pockets of the coat Ryloth stared off into the station through his sunglasses. There was no real night here. Always something to do, people to see, business to make. Even on a station filled with all manners of creatures, and mostly populated by humans and cat people, the five foot humanoid stood out a bit with his short stature, wide girth, large beard, and the assortment of cyberware protruding from his head. Mostly that last one. The datajack was an actual port drilled into his skull, and the antenna sticking out from behind his ear was a curious thing.

Checking the chrono again he let out a sigh. It was time. Turning around he stepped into the nearby threshold, taking only a moment to glance up at the bright neon sign. Shatterstar Lounge. Stepping through was like being hit by a concussion grenade of sound and lights. The bar was hopping, as one would expect from one of the prime entertainment destinations on this boring station. Passing by giggling patrons helping themselves to glowing liquors, Ryloth headed through the doors in the back. There was a bouncer who nodded at him and pushed the door open. Beyond was the threshold of a whole different world. Bodies danced in the mist, twisting to the music, in various stages of undress. Creatures of every shape and color presented a feast for the eyes.

Lady Vraska, the proprietor, had been nothing but absolutely accommodating to him. In a galaxy full of con artists, it was strange that the sin peddler was the most honest person he had ever met. He had come into this expecting to get ripped off, overcharged, and potentially backstabbed. Instead every credit felt well spent and Vraska had pulled out all the stops for this meeting. First he bought access to the informant, the guy with the job; secondly she offered contacts that would be capable of helping pull off said job; and thirdly contacted them personally to call them to Jovan for the meeting. Ryloth didn't know their names, only their skills. This would be their first face to face. Putting the job on the table and seeing if the fishes bite.

The meeting would take place in a room set away from the showroom where they could have a little privacy. Ryloth went there now to get comfortable and wait for these individuals to arrive.

[Vhiran Antilles]

Vhiran wrinkled his nose as he strode through the concourse of Jovan Station, coat tossed casually over one shoulder, tie slackened off far more than comfort required, fingers idly fumbling with the sleeves of his crisp white to roll them up into something half-way tidy looking, just shy of his elbows. It was an old trick, an old piece of advice that'd been given to him by a sage old bastard years and years ago. No matter what you're pushing, no matter what you're selling, people always find it easier to trust a man in a nice clean shirt. Granted, Vhiran had made a career of stacking the odds against easier; but he stuck with it none the less. Old habits, and all that.

He didn't pay much attention to his companion, trusting that she'd follow on behind him without complaint. Well, okay. Not without complaint per se; more trusting in the fact that she knew him well enough to know that he didn't really give a crap, wasn't going to listen, and it was in everyone's best interests to keep her damned complaints to her damned self. That was the way that it worked, tagging along with Vhiran Antilles as he roamed the galaxy. You either got used to it, or you got lost - in one of the myriad permutations of that word. People left him. People got left behind. People got left in the ground. That was the job. That was the life.

He'd given up on caring a long time ago.

Satisfied, more or less, with the state of his sleeves, Vhiran pulled the coat off his shoulder and bundled it into a beige parcel of fabric that he held casually in one hand. Space stations like this were weird. Did they count as inside or outside? Did you wear a jacket? Should you wear a hat? Social conventions probably existed, but no one around him seemed on the same page on that. Vhiran didn't pay any mind to that: the Cizerack just seemed to like things a notch too warm for his tastes.

"Mind your back, love," he muttered, a careful touch against the back of a woman's shoulder easing her casually to the side as he meandered his way through the crowd. A dozen or so paces later, his fingers shifted on his coat, the other hand reaching over to retrieve the wallet he'd swiped. He shuffled through the ident cards looking for anything security related - the way the woman had carried herself, his money was on off-duty military, technician maybe. People like that usually had good access; can't fix things if you can't get in. He wasn't planning anything during his time here on the station, but you never knew when something like that would come in handy. A yeoman. Damn. Clerical staff. Probably good for raiding the stationary supplies, but not much else. He slipped the ident back into the wallet, and casually tossed it into a nook behind a large plant pot that he guessed was probably supposed to make the place feel less dead and spacey. Cleaning crew would find it eventually; return it to it's rightful owner. There'd been a picture of kids in there - she'd probably want that back.

He let out a sigh, following the wall towards the inner edge of the concourse's curve, until his eyes settled on the sign for the establishment he was looking for. The Shatterstar Lounge. "Entered somethin' with a similar name a few years back," he muttered, half to himself and half to Xesh. A thin-lipped smirk and a breathy chuckle graced his mouth, before his head slowly shook. "I 'ope I won't end up regretin' it quite so much in the mornin' this time."

With a quick glance at Xesh to be sure that she wasn't lost, he eased his way into the heaving hot spot, presuming that 'the backroom' where the meet was supposed to be taking place was a geographical description as well as a name. He flashed a smile at the burly bloke who was clearly there to provide security, but was trying hard to seem like he wasn't. He wasn't looking for that; his eyes settled on the unmissable form of the establishment's proprietor.

"Lady Vraska," he said with a grin, playfully letting his accent roll around the consonants of her name. "You viridescent beauty. How are ya, love?" His eyes glanced to his surroundings. "Love what y've done with th' place."

[Narssiska Vraska]

"Charmed, ass alwayss Vhiran." Vraska hissed in her unusual raspy voice. A vision in black silk and lace, the material played opposites with her hard, scaly reptilian flesh. Her clothing noticeably more conservative than you would expect from the matron of such a pit of indulgence, but the lack of secondary sexual characteristics left less to flaunt. Instead she appeared almost motherly despite her youth. A soft cover to hide a sharp wit. "I quite like how it's turned out myself. I could get you a job behind the bar if you ever felt the need to settle down.

But that is hardly why you're here. Your contact is waiting for you. Follow me." She waved them forward, past the bouncer, and into the backroom. The music became louder as they passed through the sonic shield between the rooms. Lights flashed and bodies danced in various states of undress as patrons watched from the edges of the stages. Credits were tossed on stage and the private booths to one side had a steady flow of patrons. It was a busy night. No body would ever notice the three of them as they moved between the stages to one of the doors at the back. "He'ss waiting insside." She said into his ear so that he might hear over the noise. "Don't forget to ssee me on your way out."

[Ryloth Grimhammer]

"Come on in, chummers." Ryloth's voice boomed as the door opened and the man and woman, Vhiran and Xesh is what Vraska had called them, came in. Snatching his sunglasses off his face, the Dwarf laid them out on the table and then motioned at the mostly empty round booth. He looked the two of them over. On closer inspection one might notice that one of his eyes was not organic. A faint red light could be seen in the artificial lens from time to time. The two of them didn't look like much. Typical humans. However, the Lady had spoken highly of them. 'sposed to be good at getting their hands on things, and that was exactly what the job called for.

"Ya'll want anythin' to drank? Eat? My treat."