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Chir'daki
Jun 25th, 2016, 04:24:28 PM
It was hard to find a poetic way to describe the Vapor Room. You could try to brand it as one of Bespin's best kept secrets, but that would be a lie. It wasn't secret: just wasn't important enough to earn all that much notice. No one cared that a disused corner of one of the old construction platforms, left over from when the repulsorlift behemoth of Cloud City had first been hammered together by the Ugnaughts, had been repurposed as a den of drink and debauchery. No one cared about licensing an out-of-the-way dive like this. No one kept tabs on where the casks of ale and barrels of wine came from, or whether the scruffy and ruffled spacers carrying them in had bothered to pay the proper import dues.

It was one of the oddities of Cloud City. Walk through one of the doors, and you were utterly under the Baroness Administrator's watchful gaze. True, that gaze wasn't omniscient: plenty went on in the shadows of the lower levels that no amount of Wing Guards or Stormtroopers could ever hope to police entirely; but that was true of any city. Every settlement in the cosmos had it's underbelly, and the law just learned to accept it. Out here on the construction rigs, the refinery platforms, or down on the Ugnaught Surface though, they didn't even try. Whatever happened here was out of sight and out of mind: the rule of law came to an abrupt end as soon as you reached the pressure doors and curving outer walls at the edge of Cloud City. Maybe the Clouders thought they were somehow better off, leaving these havens to lure the worst of the worst to places safely beyond their city walls; or maybe Cloud City was just as corrupt as everyone said, from zero plaza right down to the refinery core.

Chir'daki didn't much care either way. Such musings were a plague on his conscience, distracting himself from the focus he usually prided himself on. But his visit (http://theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?56121-Vengeance) to the Black Archives had changed things; changed him. Something was different, something broken, tiny cracks in the barriers that usually held this kind of curiosity at bay. At least the ale here in the Vapor Room was helping, albeit in a quantity over quality sort of way.

His jaw muscles worked, face contorting into a toothy grimace as he sucked in a breath over his tongue, the cloying aftertaste of mediocre beer lingering on the back of his throat. He felt uncomfortable, forcing himself to hunch down like one of the normal folk, dressed in scruffy work clothes instead of his usual gleaming armour, slouched over his drink like a tired and broken man who didn't want trouble. Perhaps the illusion was a little close to the truth; save for the last, at least. Tired he might be, and there was no question that the Archives had left him rattled for reasons that his mind struggled to fully comprehend and recall; but no amount of disruption to his sense of self could ever make Chir'daki reluctant for trouble. He longed for it. Thirsted for it. Craved the sweet release and satisfaction of violence, the opportunity to prove to himself and the incomprehensible will of the galaxy that he was still the same beast he had always been, still the same devastating predator in relentless pursuit of his prey.

That prey was a man; an underling in one of the Tenloss Syndicate's criminal enterprises. He was a slaver, or so Chir'daki had been told: a most vile, reprehensible, irredeemable individual; the kind who snatched young girls from their beds, beat and raped them into submission, and then trafficked them into the waiting arms and loins of whoever had the credits. Perhaps the Hutt felt that by telling his hunter this, it would appeal to some sense of humanity and compassion, compel him with an added incentive to succeed; but Chir'daki didn't care, not in the slightest. Coin was coin, and a death was a death. If Ambassador Wrath was willing to pay him to slaughter a barista who'd looked at him the wrong way, Chir'daki had no qualms: not if the credits were good, and the documentation was there.

That was the crucial part of course, the fine line that set bounty hunters apart from assassins and common thugs. Any kind of man could kill for money; and all but the brainless could succeed without getting caught. But bounty hunters? Merchants of death who acted only under contract? There was some allure to it that Chir'daki could not break from, some void within him that it somehow filled. Some might describe it as a sense of honour, twisted as it might be; but such things were the currency of the Jedi, the Mandalorians, and Chir'daki was most certainly neither. Perhaps it was the order that appealed: the structure of the bounty system, giving him purpose and protocol to form shapes from the chaos that the galaxy otherwise resembled. Or perhaps it was something else, something from before, something from the years and the youth that had been stolen from him, scorched from his mind by events that he knew of only in the retelling. Perhaps it was some relic, some artefact, some aspect of a different man that he had once been.

He slammed back another mouthful of unpleasant ale, eyes narrowing as he scowled at his inner thoughts. This was not his way. It was not in his nature to dwell, or ruminate. His eyes strayed to his quarry: a gaggle of drunken, raucous brutes that he'd followed here from the City. Weequay, Klatooinians, Twi'leks; all sorts of other inhuman outer rim filth. Normally he wouldn't waste his time on creatures so far beneath a man of his skills, but today he needed them: today he was following them to his true target like flies to a carcass. They were the snatchers, the claws that dragged their poor, unsuspecting victims from the low levels of Cloud City, disappearing them to the outlying platforms so that they could be handed off to the slaver like a spice pouch at a nightclub. As efficient a system as any in a grim sort of way, Chir'daki supposed.

Their table fell silent for a moment - or at least, as close to silence as it had been since they arrived. A few muttered words, carefully overheard by Chir'daki's honed senses. A message from their employer. An estimated time of arrival. A shout to the bar staff for another round of ales. Chir'daki's hand gripped tighter around the plasteel cup that his booze had arrived in - apparently the Vapor Room was far too savvy to hand potential weapons to their clientèle.

Soon.

Alanie Herleva
Jun 25th, 2016, 07:21:41 PM
Blue green eyes studied every contour of the man's face, the eyes, brow, jawline and nose as if sizing him up for a statue to be erected in her hall of trophies. If such a thing existed. The hologram of the station's security manager overseeing the lower quarter of Cloud City had gained a mark with someone wishing an end to his corruption. But first she had to get to him and arrest him, for taking someone alive always garnered higher wages. This dirtbag had allowed her to also get a bonus if she ensured that he could at least still walk. Handing someone like this over to authorities that actually cared about justice on this station made her wary that such people existed.


Worry about that later.


Sighing, Alanie reclined a bit more in the air speeder as the driver cruised through the cloud cover and angled the vehicle downward toward her destination. A club known as the collection point for every sort of vile individual that called this place home. Those that her trainer at the orphanage would have offered her up for target practise, just so she could see how effective certain bullets and knives were on the body. There was no guarantee, as she reviewed Mister Evan De Puy's list of charges, that he wasn't going to have to visit a medbay before she handed him over. Clicking off the file, she deleted it permanently and then turned off the datapad, returning the slender, blue-grey device to her jacket pocket. Glancing up, the entrance to the target level was now approaching and she would have to get into business mode again. Slowing, the air speeder banked right and soon landed on the wide, shallow landing area.


"Twenty-three credits," the driver stated.


Inserting her credstick, she paid the fare and then stepped out, closing the door behind her and began strolling toward the main corridor to the entertainment sector. Taking in every face as she passed, the bounty hunter dismissed nearly all of them, though mentally evaluated each for their stance, hands, build and eyes. Old habits.


Soon, the music pumping through the closed door to the Vault only intensified as she walked in. The darker interior clouded by cigarra smoke and flashing lights, it was time to get into business mode. Dressed in a shiny, black leather jacket, revealing silk blouse and tight, short skirt, tanned, strong legs gained not a few looks as she continued her survey, knowing that at least one of Mister De Puy's contacts was in here and needed to be questioned first.

Chir'daki
Jun 26th, 2016, 10:42:19 AM
Work as a bounty hunter long enough, and you developed a certain sense about things. Add in sensitivity to the Force, and it became a real sense. It was a predatory instinct, a subconscious awareness of the way the energy in a room shifted when something changed. You didn't always see it with your eyes, didn't always perceive it with your mind, but that instinct knew it was there, and manifested the right kind of reaction in your body. A prickle on your neck. A twist in your gut.

Right now, the sensation centred on the woman who had just entered. She was familiar and unfamiliar both at the same time. Unfamiliar in that Chir'daki was confident the two had never met; but familiar in that he had met people like her many times. He could feel her attention sweeping the Vapor Room, her consciousness bouncing across surfaces like the emissions from active sensors. All kinds of people entered a room looking for something, but the way she looked defined a much narrower category of people. She wasn't scanning for a table, not looking for friends; she was here seeking something. The law was too comfortable back on Cloud City, so that ruled out some form of detective; that left private investigators, bounty hunters, and and a few different variations on the theme of criminal. He regarded her as best as he could without looking, contemplated the way she moved, the way her fashion choices might allow for concealed weapons, the way her outfit encouraged people to look at her in a certain sort of way. Nothing definitive, but enough to be concerned. Enough to want to quantify this new variable before he acted.

Chir'daki made a show of finishing the last of his drink, an excuse to abandon his table and return to the bar. He added a slight stagger to his step, and a faint flourish of Force swirled around him to make him seem even less worthy of notice as he crossed the few metres of open space and deposited himself into a bar stool. Hunched over the sticky counter top, he set his cup down in front of him and gestured to the droid for a refill, ignoring the use of his eyes and instead reaching out with his other senses to try and glean what he could about this new arrival and why she was here.

Alanie Herleva
Jun 26th, 2016, 11:08:46 AM
Casually drifting through the crowded tables, she winked at those grinning at her with lust in their eyes, passing by and denying that one thing they wished: attention. She had other matters to attend to and as she scanned for all the exits, blue-green eyes caught sight of the table of thugs huddled around a datapad held by one, the Klatooinan's large size was enough to deter anyone from commenting on his dredlocks, even when drunk. The Twi'lek however. Grinning, she angled her tour passed a scantily clad waitress, platter of appetizers in her upraised hand and made her way to the table. Leaning in on the Twi'lek's arm, she placed her left on his shoulder, gaining everyone's attention.

"Hey," she grinned down at him, the shade of blue skin making him almost appear like a ghost in the flashing lights and smoky air.

"What's up, babe?" His right arm swung back and around her waist, hand on her right hip.

"Thought perhaps you and I could find a quiet corner."

His excitement almost palpable, the slaver pushed himself up, smiling at his companions. "Looks like you guys are out of luck."

Eyeing Alanie, the large sergeant's gaze scrutinized the human female, "Be careful with this one. I'm not paying for your medbay bill this time."

Chuckling as they walked away, the Twi'lek's arm around her shoulders, "Don't worry, she'll be the one needing a doctor later."

Wanting to laugh, she refrained and continued with the ruse as they moved around several more tables, avoiding dancers on the floor and reached the alcove which conjoined the kitchen and refreshers with another exit beyond. His left arm lowering to the small of her back as he opened the door, allowing her to enter the narrow corridor of piping and power conduits along the ceiling, she moved away from the door and then turned. As he leaned in for a kiss, his hands now reaching for more private areas, the trained assassin kneed him in the groin, left forearm planted into his throat as she slammed his head into the large, rusted pipe behind. The surprise on the Twi'lek's face was priceless as he realized now what was going on.

"Who do y...?"

"Shut up," she seethed. "I'm the one asking the questions. Where's Bo?"

His eyes widened, hands trying to massage his midsection, eyes glistening in pain. "Who the f...?"

"Wrong answer," she leaned in, adding more pressure to his neck. "Little more and I break your windpipe. Where is he?!"

Chir'daki
Jun 28th, 2016, 05:10:24 PM
Curiosity was a vice that prayed upon the week willed, something that Chir'daki prided himself on not being; but as he watched the Vapor Room's new arrival slink her way over to his flock of bait-nerfs, he couldn't help himself. It was a shrewd tactic, a predatory one: single out a victim, separate them away from the rest of the herd, and then attend to whatever business you had once they were safely out of sight and earshot. Perhaps her intentions were benign, or carnal, or some other variation that wouldn't interfere with Chir'daki's business with the Twi'lek and his cohorts.

Not likely.

The Force still bathing him in a gentle shroud that discouraged anyone's attention from lingering on him, he slipped away from the bar, circling around at a safe distance, following the woman and her Twi'lek as they disappeared from view. He watched as the woman struck for soft targets, Chir'daki leaning casually against a wall a dozen feet or so further back up the corridor, his golden eyes drinking in the details, other senses tasting the emotions and intentions that rolled off her. At least he had an answer now to the questions that her arrival had raised: she was after information, and apparently she had decided that beating it out of the first person she came across was her best option. Chir'daki couldn't help feeling a small flicker of disappointment that this newly arrived curiosity wasn't a little more imaginative than that.

"You're going to have to do a lot more than that if you expect him to talk."

Chir'daki's voice was casual, almost disinterested, lacking the usual depth and rumbling gravitas that he usually injected into his words. He didn't move, didn't shift from his nonchalant lean against his chosen bulkhead, offering a faint shrug as the woman's attention turned in his direction.

"You can't threaten to hurt a man like him, and expect him to just tell you everything immediately. If he talks, it doesn't matter that you won't do anything - he'll still have that Klatooinian to answer to; he gets beaten to a pulp either way."

The hunter shifted the tiniest bit, an arm reaching out towards the Twi'lek. A flicker of concentration danced across his brow, filaments of Force extending like tendrils from his fingers, wrapping themselves the Twi'lek's form; with a sudden twitch of Chir'daki's fingers, the Twi'lek let out a visceral yelp of pain, as his kneecap suddenly lurched six inches in a direction that it shouldn't, his leg now hinging in completely the opposite way to it's design.

"If you want to use fear and pain to extract information, you need to really hurt them first. Make the pain so overwhelming that all they can think about is making it stop, no matter the consequences."

Chir'daki straightened, his demeanour changing as he stepped away from the wall, advancing slowly like a vornskyr stalking towards it's cornered prey. "Now -" he continued, threat and darkness creeping into his words, the shine of his suddenly scowling eyes becoming harder and harder to look away from with each passing moment. He drew closer to the Twi'lek, though still far enough away to be sure he didn't seem like he posed a threat to the woman.

A faint twitch of something that almost seemed like the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, baring a sliver more of his pearly teeth.

"- I believe the lady asked you a question."

Alanie Herleva
Jun 29th, 2016, 03:35:19 PM
The voice of the newcomer caught her attention, seeing him in the corner of her eye and prompting the trained assassin to draw her concealed, shoulder holstered pistol, holding it to the Twi'lek's head as she spun him to become her body shield. However as the moments lingered, the sudden cry by her captive made her release him as he dropped to the floor, hands now to his damaged knee. Brow furrowed lightly as she was obviously alarmed and intrigued by this large, golden eyed man. Though handsome, she was more interested in what he had in mind then listened to his instruction and thought she had done that, though not nearly as effectively as his display.

Pistol still in hand and at the ready as he stalked forward toward them, she then turned her attention down to the slaver as he whimpered. Sniffing, the blue skinned alien looked from the menacing male to the more slender, agile female. "He sent a comm that our schedule changed to tonight at eight. Supposed to meet him near the south dock."

"How many others," she queried, crouching and placed the pistol now atop the side of his other knee.

Dark eyes now shot to the warning as the barrel of the weapon pressed into his pant's leg and flesh. "I don't know. Maybe twelve." Tears still streaming down his face, agonizing pain shooting up his wounded leg making his voice quiver.

"How's he armed?"

"Usually carries two DL Forty-Fours that he had modified sometime back." He glanced back up to the large man now lording over him. "That's all I know, promise."

Alanie's eyes also rose to the other as she stood, having mostly what she needed for now and knew that eventually his friends may come looking for him. "All yours," she stated, stepping over the wounded slaver and continued toward the door, returning her pistol to the concealed shoulder holster. She had a meeting place to evaluate.