Settling Family Business

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

It had taken a few days after Dangereuse had said goodbye to her aunt (http://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?56848-Deciding-Death), before she had picked up the trail. House Cadriaan did not have the experience of House Mecetti in orchestrating someone's untimely demise. They had been sloppy about it. All she had to do was follow the trail of credits from their planetary bankers, right to the source. The source being a third party on Corellia, and so she had gone there straight away.

Arrangements had been made ahead for a suite at a beach side hotel, not far from Tyrena City. The glimmer of the light reflecting off the sparkling golden sand was blinding. Danger had placed a pair of designer shades on her pale face before even deigning to exit the limospeeder as it pulled up to the hotel. She waited for the driver to come around to her door and open it and a delicate looking, black lace, parasol for her. Taking into her gloved hand, she stepped out and entered the hotel to check herself in.

A few hours, and then she would go out and find the poor souls who had been hired to kill her, kill her family, and she would kill them first..

She already knew where one of them would be..

[Cael Steorrbearn]

Corell crept below the horizon, taking the shine off the city and revealing its imperfections.

At the grav-train station, carriages expelled their passengers onto the platforms. Sun-burnt and weary tourists mingled uncertainly with stiff-backed and stiff-fingered workers from the mines and factories of Coronet. When the sun went down, you could just about see the twinkling, artificial lights of the 'Jewel of Corellia' on the horizon, winking across the water like will o' wisps. High above, the clouds drew a curtain in front of the Imperial blockade.

In the Murra's Head, the smoke in the air was just thick enough to mask the smell of beer and stale sweat. Wooden tables, scuffed yet polished, were crowded with dozens of patrons and not a non-Human stood among them. In booths with upholstered chairs, whose leather had been torn and sown too many times to count, bodies huddled over half-empty tankards of local Corellian ales, the murmur of their conversation creating a constant undercurrent of sound.

There was no music, no laughter. The dark stain of damp crept down from the eaves. Caelan Steorrbearn stood at the bar. He licked his lips and checked his chronometer.

“A drink for you, Cael?” a voice asked from behind the bar. Caelan looked up, sharp blue eyes landing on a round, pock-marked face.

“Not tonight, Brean,” he said, tucking the chronometer back into his pocket.

Brean nodded to himself as he worked a cloth over the bar top, varnishing the old wood with the dregs of whatever had been spilled on the counter. Satisfied with that, he used the same cloth to swipe away the sweat and wispy red hair from his forehead. “Gram was in earlier, t'pick up the dues. Haven't seen Rede since.. must be two days gone.”

Caelan's eyes shifted to the mirror behind the bar, picking out familiar faces in the smudged glass. “Gram isn't to touch the dues without my say so,” he said, evenly. “See to it that Rede gets something substantial in his belly when he does come around.”

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

"What's the word, Ed?" The barkeep in the Tyrena City cantina acknowledged the entrance of the newest patron to enter. Someone he knew better than to get on the wrong side of. Other people had and had paid the price, at the end of his fists that were like slabs of meat in size.

Eddie Brasi grunted in response, being a man of very few words. He always said the wrong thing, made himself sound dumb. It was better to laugh when others laughed. Punch a man to death when told to do so - and spend the rest of his evening using the credits earned to pay for a whore who didn't mind his not quite sharp wit. Yeah, that was about the best he was going to get, but he didn't mind. He liked the work. It was what he was good at.

His big head turned to take in the sight of the lady seated at the end of the bar sipping fancy pink champagne. He stared. The barkeep laughed, which pissed him off but it seemed to be in good nature when he elaborated. "Yeah, her. Been there a while now. Every one who sees her does that same face. Like they can't understand what she's doing here."

The woman wore a black and white striped dress, cinched at the waist by a black corset. One that hoisted her perfect tits for all to bear witness to. A black pillbox hat sat perched at an angle on her bright copper hair, the black mesh veil concealing half her face, allowing a teasing glimpse of the opposite side. Fishnet stockings on her crossed legs, black heels.. Oh, she was worth making an ass of himself if it meant he got her on her back, or knees..

"She says she's looking for someone." The barkeep said. "Maybe you?" He grinned and wiped the counter top, moving away to refill someones beverage.

Eddie, slicked his black hair back, sniffed his underarms and moved forward toward the gorgeous red-head.

She looked up at him and smiled! "Hello there. Care to buy me another drink?"

Eddie Brasi was never this lucky, but he knew better than to miss an opportunity. "Sure thing."

He sat on the stool next to hers, feeling like a lumbering idiot at first but after a while she put him at ease. She did the talking for them, laughing at his replies as though he were the cleverest guy on Corellia. Clearly she wanted something.. The thing was, he wasn't bright enough to divine what that thing was.

"Are you a bad man, Eddie?", she wanted to know. "What's the worst thing you've done?", her bright eyes seemed eager to take in the imagery he might provide. Tales of his hands crushing the life out of a man.

And so he told her... He told her a lot.

At some point in his telling - some part about his next job, one he was leaving on with a few of his mates in a matter of days, she put her hand on his thigh, squeezing meaningfully. "You want to get out of here?", she asked? Maybe she liked it with big rough guys like him? Good.

Following her out, he damn near ripped his pants with his enthusiasm to get some part of himself inside some part, any part, of her. She curled her arm around his and suddenly he was leading her around like a proper gentleman, right into an alley, which belied the pretty gesture.




When they found Eddie Brasi the next day, he was not all there. Someone had cut out his tongue before slitting his throat. A curious pattern, a diamond within a diamond, had been carved into his forehead, but he had died with a smile on his face..

[Cael Steorrbearn]

In one of the Murra's Head's private booths, Caelan nursed a glass of something dark and bitter.

"That'll be getting warm," Brean said, stepping in to pick up the empty glasses scattered like the shucked shells of so many Gold Beach oysters. Caelan thought of the quayside markets, of the fishmongers who could crack the shells and slip out the soft flesh inside with the flick of a knife-point. Idly, he wondered whether Eddie Brasi had enjoyed the same, swift end.

Brean made noisy work of gathering up the glasses. Caelan eyed the red-faced bartender, one eyebrow lifting just a fraction. "The ale was warm when it got here."

With a huff, Brean tossed his dishtowel over his shoulder as he gathered up the rest of the empties.

"You sent the rest of the boys home early," he huffed. Caelan didn't move except to distractedly tap the nail of his thumb and forefinger on the table top. Brean worked around him, picking up shot glasses five at a time by shoving his fingers into them. The others had left a mess in their wake, but not a drop of it had passed Caelan's lips. No one except Brean mentioned that he'd barely touched his drink.

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

"What do you hear, Crash?"

The call was barely audible over the constant roar of the pre-race displays of daring on the Agrilat circuit. Stunt drivers. Pyrotechnics. The hawkers offering quite indigestible food. All of it the perfect blend of noise, crowd and chaos to move through without attracting too much notice.

Leaned over the guardrail, Dany 'Crash Test' Foy, stared out at the antics on the track, without seeing them. His mind was elsewhere. Specifically in the Rasp Ravine, near the halfway mark for the racers. His bet for today was that those competing would all be losers, just not quite in the way they were anticipating..

"I hear you're supposed to be somewhere else." The former Imperial pilot flicked the layer of ash from the end of his cigar without really answering the question.

"Right." The younger man muttered, lighting a cigarette of his own. "The Seraph boys want to know what's the trigger?"

"Same as it is on their turf. Last lap, the ones dragging their asses. They know that. Why don't you?" Before being drummed out of the Empire, Crash had been a decent pilot. Decent enough when he was sober - hence the name.

"Just checking. I better get into position." The younger man grinned, and left the same way he had come.



In the stands just beyond the track, black-lace gloved fingers held a pair of dainty binoculars before her, as though the events before her truly interested her. They did not.. What did interest her was the glass of champagne, angled toward her a tray. Picking it up, she kept her eyes on the target. "Thank you..."

Dany Foy, the man who heard too much.

[Cael Steorrbearn]

The tray of champagne passed by Cael too, though he barely noticed it. “The plan remains the plan, Gram,” he said, to the rake-thin man pacing the muddy ground beside him. “You’re to stay here and take bets, and leave the monitoring of the track to the others.”

“But I’d be better placed out there-” Gram started.

Cael cut him off, in a low voice. “You’d be best placed where I say you’re placed.”

The last time Gram had been sent out into the swamps, their attempts to subtly influence the outcome of a swoop race had ended with Gram on his knees in the swamp water, pummeling someone’s face into indistinguishable meat.

Patting his brother on the arm, Cael added more genially, “I want you here with me. Where the money is, keeping an eye on the takings.”

The two of them were stationed in the spectators stands that gave the best vantage of the Agrilat Swamp Circuit’s opening and closing stretches. It was here, penned in with a loose approximation of a fence, the bookmakers like the Steorrbearn’s did their trade. Cael didn’t handle the money himself, nor did Gram, but the two of them would be near at hand to oversee any relevant transactions - and to ensure that no rival businessmen attempted to encroach upon their business.

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

Champagne flute in one hand, crimson satin in the opposite, Dangereuse had been leaving the area to pursue the unfortunate Mr. Foy. Awareness rippled down the back of her neck. It drew her attention to the conversations going on around her, telling her to pay attention, she was missing something. Bits and pieces of exchanges came to her, enough to identify some potential bookmakers of the Agrilat races. Could be anyone, it was nothing to go on, but she still wanted to commit those faces to memory in case she came back to it later.

Dangereuse turned her face, and looked..

One of them had exceedingly nice eyes.

She rather hoped he was not the man at the top, it would truly be a shame if she had to take one to complete her macabre little gift for her aunt. Smiling, she tipped back the flute to finish her drink, leaving the empty glass with a waiter as she passed.

The races had begun. The roar of the many passing swoops, and that of the spectators was deafening. It was just exactly the kind of chaos for any sort of lamentable accident to occur.

[Cael Steorrbearn]

The howl of the swoop bikes filled the air long after the riders had sped away from the starter gun. Cael watched them go, watching the blade-thin wake each bike left in the shallow swamp water as it accelerated from stillness to speed in the blink of an eye.

The race had barely begun and already new bets were being made. While Cael stood looking out over the tracks, hands braced against a fence, Gram had his back to it all, his eyes instead on the handful of young men and women bartering over odds. If everything went to plan, they’d earn the Steorrbearn’s a respectable amount of credits.

If everything went to plan.

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

Following the obviously doomed Mr. Foy, Dangereuse watched as he opened a gate that led down into a fenced maintenance access that followed the path of the track. He might be able to get away with it unnoticed, but she would surely require an explanation if she were found wandering in the swamp dressed as she was. Best not to be found then. Opening the gate, she followed her target down into the damp swampy ground alongside the swoop track. The bikes going by provided her with enough noise to cover her approach.

When Dany Foy did happen to feel as though he were being followed, it was much too late. Dangereuse was a mere step behind him with a smile on her face. "Hello Dany.."

Without provocation from the former Imperial pilot, the assassin plunged twin stiletto blades into the lapels of his jacket, pushing until they punctured his flesh into tough pectoral muscle and then she kept pushing, driving him backward into the safety fencing. "Tell me.. Afram Stitchman, a foreman from Gilliana. Take any payments from him lately?"

"Owwwww, you stupid crazy bitch! What are you talking about? Who?" Dany tried to fight back against her, but despite the fact that she was a small female, she seemed incredibly strong. With only two small daggers she had him forced up against a fence, practically on his toes.

"Business. That's all. I find your honesty in this matters greatly.. Speak. You took credits from him, yes? You are the boss, are you not...?"

[Cael Steorrbearn]

When she twisted one of her blades just a fraction, Dany Foy froze. He should have known better than to squirm, skewered in place, but he’d been certain that a quick shove would be all it took to send the woman sprawling on her back into the mud. Not so, apparently. Whoever she was, she was stronger than she looked. His mind skipped about, trying to place exactly who he or the others could have crossed that would send this kind of message in response.

“If I was, would I be down here in the stinking swamp water?”

[Dangereuse Von Balis]

She did not appreciate his sarcasm, and showed it by twisting the blades, setting off another very loud protest from Mr. Foy. There was a remarkable lack of blood, for now. Time enough for that later. His yells were well timed with the general din of the race, and the roar of the crowds. No one would hear him. No one was coming.

Dany Foy continued to scream, but his struggles were becoming less and less. He looked confused as even the effort to scream became taxing and his mouth simply hung agape, although he could still feel the pain, he simply could do nothing about it.

"I was afraid of that." , she admitted. "Damn."

"That's the frinka venom. You are unable to move. Unable to speak, but I can still understand you, Mr. Foy. You are not the boss, which means...I have no more use for you. Unless..", she drew out the last word, giving the man a false sense of hope.

"Unless you can point me to the one I am after. You are not the boss, but you know who he is, yes?"

Dangereuse smiled encouragingly. She could employ other techniques to pry the information from his mind, but this was not her home. She would not resort to those measures unless she was out of other options, which she was not. Not yet.

"Tell me. Who handles the credits.."