Grym Kandle Wants to be your Friend on Social Media (Svenskeren)

[Grym Kandle]

The boy tried not to pay attention to the slim man standing in the back rooms of the store. He was trying not to notice the Cathar standing behind his mother or the Quarren standing guard out on the store room floor. It was dead quiet as the man in the mask spoke to the boy's father. His father was trembling. He'd never seen his father tremble before. The boy stared down at his toy, a replica Z-95.

"Make sure you choose your next words very... very... very... carefully, Master Crenshaw. You stole from the Hutts and sold it outside of your agreed upon parameters to an outside buyer from our organization. And then had the audacity to contrive a cover story that would pit the Hutts against our organization."

Grym Kandle, his emotionless mask betrayed nothing behind it and his voice remained an even keel as he walked slowly with the grace of a lithe predator behind the trembling man sitting in his chair.

"Now where would you get that idea?"

Fur-ball, fur, thing, not cute, mean, business.

"Imagine..."

Grym's gloved hands slid over the man's shoulders, pressing into them gently that the man sunk into himself seemingly.

"Imagine that I already know the answer to your question. Imagine that this entire situaton is rhetorical. That your family is... rhetorical."

"Vigo, no sign yet."

Kandle dismissed the report of his men waiting outside. He would come. Kandle's fingers gently dug into the man's shoulders and Crenshaw screamed out, rather loudly. His wife startled and started crying. The boy began to stand in naive defiance but the Cathar glared at him and lifted his rifle, but stopped when out of the corner of his eye he saw that Vigo Kandle had raised his hand, wagging a finger at him.

"Don't get jumpy. Not yet."

[Svenskeren]

"We gonna hava' problem? No. Course not. If you'll out of K2 than give'm some Blue in 'change for more Seven. It's not bloody rocket science Torey!"

This was a daily encounter since taking control of the Galindas operation here on Cloud City. Whichever stupid bastard had run this site before him was hopefully dissolving in a vat of acid somewhere, because he had mucked it all up proper. Missing shipments, mishandled manifests, and no organization to be seen. It was an uphill battle he'd been fighting since being transferred here. It was a much different than the other planets he had worked on. There was less direct slave trade and more contraband and black market goods to move. The people of Cloud City were desperate to get their hands on the goods they were missing out on over in Alliance space. Still, there was plenty of opportunity to dabble in all illicit trades.

Hanging up his comm unit, he replaced it one of the many pouches on the belt he wore. His outfit wasn't anything special, apart from the many pockets it boasted. A hood covered his head, with holes cut for his long ears to stick out the back. His tail switched back and forth behind him and his golden eyes peered out from beneath the hood. His white fur stood in contrast to his dark clothing. Red markings around his eyes, chin, and ears accentuated his features. In a human majority city like this a Squib was quite eye catching and attention drawing, and as such Svenskeren felt no need to hide his more eccentric side.

Pushing into the store, Sven completely ignored the Quarren standing in the middle of the sales floor. A customer, no doubt, and headed to the counter. "Crenshaw? Where you at ya cheeky bugga?" He called out, tapping a fingernail noisily on the class counter top.

[Grym Kandle]

"Boss, he's entering now."

"Everyone stand down. No one fires. No one."

A number of acknowledgements responded as Grym leaned into Crenshaw, leaning over his shoulder so that Crenshaw was looking into the dead eyes of Kandle's mask.

"Not a sound there."

And then the buzzer went off, indicating the front door opening.

"Crenshaw? Where you at ya cheeky bugga?"

Won't be coming. Not answering.

Grym slapped Crenshaw's shoulder, drawing a slight whimper from the man before Grym stepped through the door to the back and into the front, right behind the counter where the Vigo found himself looking down at the Squib tapping his finger on the counter.

"Well met. Svenskeren, I presume? I apologize but Crenshaw is preoccupied at the moment. Could we speak instead?"

The voice was dead coming through the mask and while Grym found the image of the Squib curious, he had business to get to and Crenshaw was no longer relevant. Grym had no visible weapons on him as he spread his arms wide, stepping around the counter before Svenskeren, moving with a languid grace that was masked mostly by his long, black coat.

[Svenskeren]

When someone other than Crenshaw stepped out of the back Svenskeren's ears folded back against his head and he became suddenly more aware of his surroundings. The tentacle rape face Quarren at his back, the lack of any other customer in his peripheral, and the sound of whimpering coming from the back room. Something even his keen ears barely picked up on. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he was stepped into something unexpectedly dangerous.

So much for a simple day in the office.

He didn't back down or diminish himself for a moment. He followed the masked loony as he stepped around the counter, even going so far as to lean his shoulder against it and cross his arms across his chest. He wasn't afraid. Fear was something people bought into with bits of their souls, and Sven was keeping all of his saved up to collect interest. Standing his ground was all he really could do, since leaving didn't look like a healthy option.

"Y'can call me Sven. Er'body else does." He replied, keeping his eyes on the masked man and not risking even so much as a side glance at the Quarren. He wasn't going to acknowledge the bad situation he had just stepped into. The man was dressed up fancy in his mask and cloak. An eccentric type. The goon, from what he could tell through the modest peripheral vision his large eyes gave him, was dressed like a typical goon, but there was hints of tattoos and markings about his person. Sven couldn't make them out without looking, but just their location and general shape gave him an idea of just who he was dealing with.

"Yer Black Sun, aint'cha?"

[Grym Kandle]

Grym raised a finger with a gesture of congratulations. The voice was dull and shared nothing of the gesture's enthusiasm.

"And correct, Mr. Sven. To introduce myself, I am Vigo Grym Kandle. I'd like to say I vacation here and attend to more... casual business but Mr. Crenshaw personnaly requested my visit. Or so I assumed. It appears that Mr. Crenshaw, formerly one of Black Sun's associates, has become one of your associates?"

The question was rhetorical. Why else would a Vigo of Black Sun bother with a middle man like Trip Crenshaw? That too was rhetorical.

"He broke a contract with us, diverted goods into Alliance space through another organization, of which I also assume is yours?"

[Svenskeren]

A cheeky grin spread across Sven's furry mouth; a maw of needle sharp teeth that would be threatening if not for the up curve at the edges.

"Unfortun'ly Crenshaw neglected ta' mention any Black Sun involvement. Ya' see, we met just lass week at the King's Head. After a coupl'o drinks he mentioned he had some merchandise he was sittin' on, so I offered him a solution ta' his problem. I had no reason ta' believe he was nothing but a freelance smuggla', ya' see. Didn't mention his employer, past nor present."

Sven was no schemer, as much as his employers may wish he was. Instead he was a opportunist, and as he said, he found a man drunk in a pub who mentioned a surplus of dirty goods and Sven saw only an opportunity for profit and a new smuggler to run it. He had no idea that it could be traced back to Black Sun. That much was not in the plan, and if Kandle wasn't already putting the screws to him, Sven would be in the back room taking care of Crenshaw's lapse of judgement.

"But I'm no a bad guy. I like a tight ship, and contracts should be honored. Let me compensate your lost product. Lessee, it was seven crates... twelve each...Market value... transportation fees..." Unfolding his arms he began counting against his fingers, lifting and lowering them while his eyes stared past them, his mouth moving, licking his lips, as the math bounced around in his head. It was not a big haul. That's why he thought nothing of taking the shipment off Crenshaw's hands. "Twenty thousand credits?"

[Grym Kandle]

The lithe figure waved it off as if it was nothing, as if Svenskeren was troubling himself on account of Kandle and need not.

"No, no. At this point, the merchandise is not the damage or concern. The collateral here is a matter of principle as you should understand, I'm sure."

Grym shrugged nearly innocently.

"I've heard you were a man of principle. Your involvement here, as insignificant as Crenshaw is, makes it appear otherwise, regardless of your intentions. Perception is nine-tenths of reality, right?"

As if on cue to Grym's gesturing to the back room, there was a loud thud and a scream and suddenly a child crying. The emotionless mask on Kandle's face shook slowly, as if remorseful. His voice remained deadpan, offsetting much of what inflection might have supported.

"Shame. Crenshaw just died from a very painful heart attack, I'm afraid."

The boy is angry, the mother despairs.

Blaster fire. And then another. The crying stopped abruptly.

​Nothing.

"At least he did not have to live through that last part, I suppose. Small victories. But where was I? Right. Collateral. I want to make a deal with you. It extends to be a bit more than that, more like an understanding."

[Svenskeren]

Those three lives were snuffed out. Shame, really. All he could think about was the loss of value. Nothing was gained by killing them. Nothing material, at least. Metaphysical objects like infamy, integrity, and reputation might be generated, but those values were difficult to track, even for a Squib mind. They would have made good slaves. That was a misnomer. There is no such thing as a good or bad slave. Just slaves. Black Sun didn't deal in slaves. Sven knew that much. Still, there had to be another use for them. Maybe not for Crenshaw. He needed to be made an example of. Sven respected that. He did the same wherever he went. The other two, that he only knew about because of the different gasps for life, could be repurposed. Wasteful. That's what this man, Kandle, was. Wasteful.

The mad scramble of thoughts finally ground to a halt, leaving them looking at each other in the silence that followed the blaster fire. The truth wasn't enough to smooth this out and he was not the bluffing type. That left him was one option.

"I'm lis'nen."

[Grym Kandle]

"Well that's good to know."

Grym flipped a chair around from behind him and sat in it in a near fluid motion. He produced a white palm-sized device in his hand from a pocket in the sleeve, shaking it gently.

"So..."

Pulling his sleeve up to reveal his exposed wrist between the sleeve of his jacket and his glove. Only the scarred, green-tinged skin of a glitterstim addict beyond hope was visible.

"I have a product to push, its called 'Bliss'..."

He slid the small nozzle of the device against his wrist, the device beeping. The hand attached to the wrist that was being used opened and closed, fingers moving erratically.

"And I don't have anyone to push it into Alliance space. Spice hybrid, high grade, few drawbacks on aggregate."

[Svenskeren]

"I do'care if it gives y'wings 'n a big pecka'. All that matters is people wanna buy it."

His mind had already switched from defensive, crowd control mode back to business. A new drug? That was exciting. Sven wasn't sold on the name, though. Sounded like something that should make you feel like your floating on clouds with big tittied angels serving you champagne, and sunshine and stuff. If that's what it did than good for it. Sven had no idea. He had never done drugs in his short lifetime. If it can do what's promised it should be an easy sale in it's current form. Otherwise a more edgy name might hit it off better with today's youths and washed up spacers.

His mind continue to spin and sputter, putting together the necessary connections he would have to create, colleagues to get on board, and of course a proper distribution plan to foil Alliance security.

"If people wanna buy it I can get it there. I can'r promise no Black Sun level of distribution. Galindas is small time, see. Ain't got much fang in th'mouth. Gonna have to start small."

[Grym Kandle]

Grym shook his head slowly, maybe too slowly, too fluidly.

"I'm of modest stock, Sven. I assure you. My expectations are to always undersell rather than over promise. Everyone appreciates exceeding a low standard right out the gate."

The medical device disappeared back in its pocket as if it had never been there; his fingers continued to move, slower now but with a near hypnotic rhythm to the motion.

Small business, hard worker, and surprisingly forward and honest. Perfect. Liar.

"You doing me this favor is more than I would honestly have hoped for, so I appreciate it in earnest. So I'll be as up front as you might risk believing, but the Alliance has not really been our area of distribution. Black Sun has some Imperial background that the Alliance might not forget for some time, so your small endeavors will mean a lot to us if you make headway. You push Bliss, I don't care how you sell it, but you make the mud stick to the fence, and we'll go 30% us, 70% you."

The Vigo tilted his head back for a moment, possibly just out of consideration but it was a moment before he returned to the conversation. Grym leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face on level with Sven. The black eyes carried a blank regard, as if they missed nothing right then.

"But let's not have something like this happen again, hm?"

The voice never changed a beat but the odd slim of an expression on the mask somehow seemed to make up for the lack of inflection.

"I cannot be stumbling across associates at every turn who forsake all good business sense for short sighted profit. I mean, c'mon, Black Sun. In for the long haul, right?"

Stumbling over their bodies. Short sighted profit, missing families. Survivors see the long haul.

[Svenskeren]

"Koovy. It won't happen again."

And it never would have happened in the first place is Crenshaw had been more honest in his dealings. This was a new obstacle to him. His previous locations didn't have Black Sun in such close proximity. That meant not having to ever worry about accidentally tripping over Black Sun operations. He could go, deal, and hide where he liked. There was nobody else to get in his way. Now he would have to be more cautious. It was surprising that this whole event even rose high enough to catch the attention of Black Sun. It meant that this man, Kandle, was a man after his own heart; deeply ingrained in the system, with an eye on everything. He would have to tread carefully from here on out. Black Sun would not allow a second incident.

It was nothing a few new policies wouldn't clear up.

"The supplies can be dropped off in Hangar J19. I'll have my boys get them repackaged and delivered into Alliance space. Bing bong bam. Done."

[Grym Kandle]

"That's right, bing bong bam. Done."

In a motion that seemed too fluid for a human to stand, Grym stuck his gloved hand out before Svenskeren.

"Hangar J19. A pleasure doing business with Galindas. If this venture goes well, maybe we can pursue further business in the future? I wholeheartedly support venture capitalism steered by a being of your caliber."

[Svenskeren]

A tooth grin spread across Svenskeren's face. The sudden standing motion might have startled a lesser man, but Sven had already removed Kandle from his danger folder and placed him into something more fitting for a newfound ally. Taking his hand, he shook it as firmly as his little hand could.

"Pleasure's all mine. Koovy." and with that he adjusted his clothes and walked out of the shop, his head held high, a happy little smile on his face, and a hop in his step. The day had taken a sudden and unexpected, although potentially profitable, turn.

Maybe this would finally impress Serrena.