Don't Be Such a Kajidic

[Ambassador Wrath]

"A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."

* * *

The Ambassador scuffed his way across the sleek floors of Cloud City with an air of mild disgust. It was so clean, this habitat - on it's upper levels, at least. Everything was so bright, so polished, so sterile. The floors all felt as if they had just been buffed into a treacherous slick moments before you arrived, and the walls felt bland and spartan, as if no one had ever bothered to even try to make the place look presentable. A few of the wealthier areas had the decency to put a carpet down and throw up a few drapes, but the rest of the place was like shuffling through a hospital or a laboratory. How anyone was supposed to develop a good healthy callous on their propodium, Rath had no idea.

Perhaps that is why Okar is so soft.

It was certainly a possibility that warranted due consideration. Okar was somewhat deviant from Hutt social norms, more interested in fashion and in profiting from the joy and comfort of other beings rather from their suffering and misery. From the perspective of outsiders, that perhaps made Okar seem like a good, benevolent sort of Hutt, but to the more puritan and traditional, is was the sort of thing you spoke of in hushed tones when any interested parties were well out of earshot. True, Rath had himself just acquired the Holiday Towers casino and resort, which was undeniably part of the entertainment industry: but while a few patrons might enter happy and leave the same way, the vast majority came to spend their credits on alcohol to drown away their misery, and then plunged deeper into it losing all of their earnings at the gambling tables. That was the quintessential aspect of business that Okar had not properly grasp: happy people wanted for little, and so each sale was a hard fought effort; but misery was abundant, and it multiplied, leaving a vast and endless resource to be mined with no difficulty at all.

Perhaps today, Rath could change this. For too long he had focused on his responsibilities as master of an investment and criminal empire, and neglected his responsibilities as patriarch of the Ouishii Kajidic. No longer would he shirk his duties. No longer would he tolerate Okar's kind of weakness within his clan. Today, he would make a real Hutt out of his frilly little slug of a cousin.

"Okar!" he boomed, sliding his way into the OKWear boutique. "We have business to discuss."

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Ohh..."

It was hard to ignore a Hutt when they wanted to be heard, and Okar's glad-handing of a few nouveau riche Corulag citizens had been put on hiatus as cousin Rath decided to enter his premises, ugh, through the front door. Okar knitted his hands nervously as he saw the audacity of his kin-slug.

"Would you excuse me, please?" He asked the affluent pair, orange eyes already flicking over to a nearby assistant to take care of gilding the lily, as it were. Fortunately, they weren't so major of customers for this to spell a true disaster. No, just a nattering inconvenience, really.

"Rath, darling!" Okar beamed as he slid across the floor of Christophsis marble. "What an...unexpected surprise!"

Okar slid to a stop, waves of inertia carrying through his ponderous girth now at rest. He considered air kisses - ah, no, reconsidering with a grimace.

"I really must avail you to the discrete entrance of my establishment meant for important guests, mmm." Okar's eyes trailed nervously to the unseemly trail his cousin had left behind, pretending not to notice the odor. Didn't Skyler put together a little family hospitality package for this? Exfoliants, astringent balms, and a good array of perfume? Okar had to physically restrain himself from deploying a handkerchief to countermand the vaguely pinkish slime becoming crust at the corners of Rath's mouth.

[Skyler]

In the background, but not quite all the way in the background, Okar's majordomo, Skyler, hovered. He didn't really prance his way after his employer, but he didn't clomp his way through Okar's shadow, either. He wasn't some clumsy brute that most Hutt's liked to employ as their aides. No, he was an angel. He was a jewel. He was Skyler. Ever since Okar's last majordomo, Luscious, had passed in a tragic surgery to extend his youthful physique and features, Okar had searched high and low for just the right man to fill those youthful shoes. Or sandals. It didn't matter so long as the footwear was fabulous.

And Skyler had been that man.

He had fawned over the Hutt from the first day, and now was no different. Okar might've held restraint in pulling out one of his daintily laced handkerchiefs, but Skyler held no such reserve. It was his job, after all, to make sure that Okar was comfortable. And he loved every single moment of his job. Every. Single. Moment.

"Oh Poppy," he murmered while discreetly passing along the small shift of intricately embroidered Chandrillan silk, "... here, take this."

[Ambassador Wrath]

Though the similarity between Rath's name and a Basic language synonym for anger was mere happenstance, it was a correlation that the Ambassador relished and embraced at times. Now was one such occasion, his eyes narrowing, face contorting into as aggressive a scowl as his Hutt features could manifest. For a moment he considered lashing out with the surprisingly muscular arms that his Huttese body fat did such an excellent job of disguising, wrapping his hands around the impudent human's throat and throttling him for so much as daring to speak to Rath without invitation.

He talked himself out of it, of course. You didn't smash an unsightly vase just because it offended you; instead you judged it's owner even more harshly than you already did, for having such exceedingly poor taste.

"Chess ko, Okar," Rath warned in a low rumble. "Me hagwa naga tah bedwana chuba un newpa pateesa."





Translation: "Careful, Okar. I don't want to buy you a new friend."

[Okar the Fabulous]

"Skyler, darling..."

As gracefully as he could manage, Okar eased his over-eager boy toy to the side with a polite smile.

"Why don't you prepare a repast for my dearest cousin."

He paused, then amended "In my office." Certainly not among the paying customers, heavens no.

Kneading his mitt-like hands together nervously, Okar squinted and smile-grimaced back to his larger and more implacable family member.

"Oh, don't mind Skylar he helps first and thinks second. Pretty little thing though. Soo..."

Sweeping his stubby arms wide in a bit of a flourish, Okar then let them fall to his belly.

"This is an interesting occasion. I have a feeling you didn't come to see the summer collection."

[Ambassador Wrath]

"No, cousin."

There was a strange rumble in the wake of Rath's words; a sigh, perhaps of frustration, perhaps of disappointment at the irrevocable connection that word, cousin, burdened him with in regards to Okar. That such a creature could share even a fraction of genetic correlation with Rath? He almost shuddered at the thought. If there was ever cause to believe that nurture won out over nature, Okar was it's most resounding proof.

He allowed silence to fall, letting Okar politely usher him through the store and into the anterior chambers that would keep him out of view of the paying customers. It was for the best, and Rath was grateful for the privacy; but he knew that Okar's motivations were less about wisdom, and more about his petty obsession with image and appearance. One Hutt alone, that was one thing. Okar could manipulate his reputation, tailor people's perception of him however he wished. But two Hutts? Force forbid, two Hutts talking? My, how the people would talk. How the rumours would flourish. A Huttese conspiracy. The Cartel, wrapping it's stunted hands around the throat of Cloud City. The streets would no longer be safe. Every shady corner would overflow with spice. Every alley would contain the corpse of a murdered innocent.

It was tiresome, and yet valuable. This was why Rath relished the dealings that brought him beyond the confines of Hutt space, and the worlds upon which the Hutts traditionally flourished. On Tatooine, or Ubrikkia, the locals understood how the Hutts worked. They knew the rules. Knew the limitations. Knew how to stay on the right side of the Hutts; to stay out of trouble. Here on Bespin, or on Nubia, or in the Corporate Sector of old however, that unfamiliarity and unease conspired with the rumours and reputations of the way Hutts did business. It put people off balance, and on edge. It made them malleable; and Rath was awfully fond of a nicely malleable negotiating opponent.

But it had it's downsides as well. The Hutts attracted notice. Ideal business partners - particularly those who thrived on the kind of subtlety and discretion that Rath himself appreciated - were reluctant to cross paths with a Hutt, rightfully concerned about the kind of image that would present. Hutts and gangsters meeting in seedy corners wouldn't raise a single eyebrow; but a politician, or a respectable businessman? That was when you started to solicit the wrong kind of attention.

And that was why, for the first time in his miserable existence, Okar was about to prove himself useful to his family, and his clan.

"I am here to discuss -"

The subtlest of pauses, and a slight tug at the edges of Rath's gaping mouth added a sinister flourish.

"- business."

[Okar the Fabulous]

Okar knew all the subtleties in which that word inhabited in a Hutt's lexicon. Business involved all things above board and below. A true Hutt blurred the distinction not out of some ne'er-do-well predilection, but because they believed in a win no matter how it might be plated before them.

Speaking of plates, the Fabulous One helped himself to one of the arrays of fresh fruit laid out in his parlor, clutching a bunch of grapes in one hand while daintily removing one at a time to enjoy.

"Let me guess, you've got some nefarious designs for this nouveau riche little slice of heaven in Greater Jovan, and you'd like me to co-mingle your swamp weeds with my daisies to improve their aroma if any sensitive Imperial noses choose to pass you by?"

Okar popped another grape, letting it roll on the tip of his tongue while he awaited the answer.

[Ambassador Wrath]

A low rumble of threat escaped from Rath's throat as he shifted his weight backwards, harnessing as much height from his already larger muscular form as he could muster. His brow formed into a scowl as he glared down at Okar, anger burning in his eyes. In a swift motion that few beyond the borders of the Cartel realised Hutts were capable of, Rath's hand swung across before him, barely avoiding contact with Okar directly, to bat the bunch of grapes from Okar's hand.

"You," he growled, in a voice that would not have sounded out of place emerging from a krayt dragon, "Will know your place, little cousin."

It was easy to mistake a Hutt for nothing but a sack of fat and slime, but many - even among the Hutt themselves - forgot that their people had once been warriors. Conquerors. Most Hutts had surrendered themselves to greed and vice, preferring to rely on lackeys and underlings to exact their threats for them. Rath was wiser than this. His status had been hard fought; and he knew that if he were to rely on threats of harm and violence, that threat needed to be more than just credit, more than just the borrowed strength and danger of thugs and mercenaries who could just as swiftly turn on him. Though he often chose not to - going far enough in fact to conceal it as an ace in the hole - Rath was more than capable of getting his hands dirty when the situation required.

"I am patron of our kajidic, Okar. I will tolerate this farcical persona of yours in public, but in private you will speak to me with respect; else you will find yourself quite incapable of speaking at all."

[Okar the Fabulous]

Okar's eyes widened in shock as his head sank a bit into where a neck ought to be. The effect pronounced the Fabulous One's jowls and chins, which quivered in surprise at Wrath's rather ungentlemanly reproach.

"Oh heavens above I meant no disrespect cousin. None at all!"

Inwardly, Okar groused. The brute had risen to the top of the kajidic, and still not mastered an artful metaphor.

"It's just that, when I do choose to dirty my pristine hands, I'd rather not speak so openly of it. You might have noticed the nexxu just happens to sleep in this nuna house, mmm? It pays to be discrete."

[Ambassador Wrath]

That Okar considered himself a nexu was laughable, and Rath would have sneered were his Hutt features capable of it. Perhaps once upon a time, back when Okar had been a true son of the Ouishii, he might have deserved such a comparison; but now he was nothing but a fat and toothless kimogila, content to bask in the sun and embarrass himself enthusiastically before every hand that might reach out to scratch his belly.

"Discretion is a fool's excuse for cowardice," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, tossing the topic aside as if his opinion were too irrefutable for further discussion to be worth anyone's time.

He let out a sigh, one that began at the very tip of his tail, and rumbled it's way through the full length of his gastropod form. A hand reached for the corner of his mouth, brushing aside a crusted drop of thoughtful saliva. He inched forward as he spoke, scuffing his way across the floor, the rhythmic motion aiding the progression of his thoughts.

"Cloud City is a tree of opportunity. While our rivals seek to harvest the low-hanging fruits, I seek to built a foundation upon which we can climb to reach the rarer and more succulant ones in the higher branches."

He stopped, letting his hands rest against the bulge of his stomach, his eyes glancing sidelong towards his disappontment of a cousin.

"My underlings at the heads of Ubrikkian Industries and Czerka Arms are already in pursuit of opportunities for growth within the fertile soil that thes Governor Rübezahl seeks to cultivate; and I am poised to acquire one of Cloud City's premiere casinos - an outpost from which to operate within this corner of the galaxy. However."

That last word lingered in the air, thick with weighty significance.

"I am not the only Ouishii amid these clouds, and my interests carry me far and afield with regularity. I lack not for credits, nor trusted subordinates - yet I am obligated by our shared ancestors to invite you into this venture. A fractional share of ownership for a modest sum, and the opportunity to redeem the name and legacy that your -" He gestured around him, somehow managing to to make such an action seem laden with disgust. "- enterprise has called into question."

[Okar the Fabulous]

Cousin Rath was delivering a pitch, and much to Okar's relief, it seemed to be almost legitimate. The smaller hutt's eyes widened slightly, and he sat up a bit straighter upon his bulk. Nevermind that the curmudgeon still had no inkling of the worth of a proper brand. Okar still understood what it was to amass wealth and power.

"You're talking about the esteemed Governor's intent on making Cloud City a corporate destination, rather than a locale full of miners and bawdy houses, mm? You don't spend time above the clouds without a feel for which way the winds blow."

Okar lowered himself to playing the part of host, retrieving a case of bespoke cigarillos. He procured a pair of tapered ivory holders. They were there both for couture chic value, but also to make the act of smoking a bit more viable for hutts, who tended to prefer the hookah. He offered one to his cousin, and prepared his own as he talked.

"I suppose there's just no explaining the art of what I do, dear cousin, but I think you'll appreciate the business and the synergy of it. My clientele are a discriminating who's who of the moneyed elite. I'm not just their clothier, aha, I'm the one who puts the exclamation mark on the statement they want to make. I could have spent a fortune simply buying that kind of access. Instead, they pay me for the privilege of being in my little pink book."

Sparking his cigarillo, Okar stoked the glowing red embers with a slow draw as he smiled.

"So, perhaps we should be talking less about what you can do for me, and more to the point of what I can do for you. That way, we price our little understanding accordingly."

[Ambassador Wrath]

And there he went, rambling off like a Neimoidian about branding, and his wealth of connections that somehow justified how hideously humanized he had become. Okar was the closest thing a Hutt could get to being a painted whore: plastered with falsehoods and purfumed to the gills, all in an attempt to somehow trick the humans and their kindred races into forgetting - just for a moment - what he truly was.

Rath was no stranger to using subterfuge and manipulation to succeed. On the contrary: he was a Hutt, such actions oozed from him as readily as the slimy mucus that lubricated his gastropod. But throughout all of the lies and deceit, Rath never ceased to be true to himself. He never lost sight of who he was. He tolerated humans and their sensitive xenophobia: that was why he employed their kind to administer his corporations, a more comfortable presentation to conceal the bitter taste of Hutt beneath in any business transactions. It was why he sought to acquire one of Cloud City's established casinos rather than attempting to start from scratch with something of his own making: the Trest had once been owned by Jabba Desilijic Tiure; Rath was merely stepping into an existing Hutt-shaped void. Rath shrouded himself in deception, but never allowed it to compromise who he was.

But Okar? Okar had consorted himself so extensively to appease the humans that Rath was not sure he was even capable of making himself resemble a Hutt again.

All that said, family was family. This was not about individuals: this was about the kajidic, and securing it's greatness within the Hutt Cartel. Okar might not conform to the kajidic or it's preferred practices, but he still benefited from that genetic heritage. The kajidic's reputation still shielded him, still deterred competitors from encroaching on his domain for fear of the reprisals the Ouishii might exact. Okar needed this deal, needed the blatant confirmation that he was still a breathing part of his clan, even if his infection of humanity prevented him from being able to admit it.

It is for your own good, cousin, Rath mused to himself, as he sucked in a long draw of the offered cigarillo.

"The casino I seek to acquire is the Trest," Rath explained, trapping his emotions and opinions behind a stasis field, and sliding into the slow rumbling tone he always adopted when discussing business. "It is already established as one of Cloud City's premiere resort destinations, and caters strongly to the non-human and less wealthy market: a particularly lucrative client base these days, and one that will only become more valuable with each step towards greater Imperialization that Bespin takes. It's identity and reputation are already well-established, and it would be unwise for us to compromise that by attempting to stamp our own identity upon it. However -"

Reluctance weighed upon his shoulders as he fabricated his new lie, a deception to convince his cousin that his contributions might somehow have some fictional value.

"I suppose there may be some value in taking advantage of your -" The word tasted horrible in his mouth as he tried to say it. "- access."

Another long drag on the cigarillo, to drown away the taste from his mouth.

"The human population of Cloud City will only continue to grow, if Governor Rübezahl has his way. Trest has a healthy supply of smugglers and visitors spending their credits within it's walls, but the resident human population seems to favour other establishments. The lower levels have clubs and casinos of their own which cater to the common folk; and my research suggests that Black Sun has ensnared the Imperials. The garrison tends to favour the Holiday Towers: cheap enough for their wages, and just alien enough to be exciting and exotic without it being overwhelming. The wealthy meanwhile waste their credits in Cumulus, wrapped in their protective bubble of finery."

Rath's next draw was held in his maw for a few extra moments, before the smoke and vapour was released, contorted into wisps and patterns by a collaboration of lips and tongue.

"Tell me, cousin. What help can your pink book offer?"