Home Advantage

[Diego Torres]

The harsh light from Tatooine's binary suns accentuated the rugged exterior of a VCX-100 as it sagged low with landing struts extended, touching down on the sand strewn landing pad of Bestine's mostly empty docks. The engine and accompanying exhaust ports hissed steam that was instantly carried from the platform by a dense, hot wind that gusted in over the squat, taupe structure that was the port's hub. A loud mechanical whirring heralded the extension of the light freighter's ramp. Moments later, a shadowed figure appeared at its angled peak. Scuffed boots immediately set into motion, carrying the man out from beneath the ship's belly and into the blinding light of the desert planet's scorching mid-day.

With the shadows no longer providing some half-hearted means of coolness to his leather-clad form, Diego brought his wide-brimmed hat up and deposited it on his head; tugging the rim low over his eyes. His dock deposit paid and his droid left behind to care for the refueling of his ship, he set off through the port and out into the bustling market street beyond. Each step was adjoined by the quiet twang of metal, issued by the collection of instruments affixed to the laden utility belt cocked high on one hip and slung low across the other. His brusque stride carried him past vendor stalls, the rhythmic chime of his pace swallowed up by the raucous banter of surrounding merchants, until he came to a halt in front of the city's cantina.

A nod was issued to one of the human patrons exiting and then he stepped inside, his head canting just slightly so his forest-green eyes could sweep the occupants furtively. Hooking a thumb in his belt, close enough to his DevTech side arm that a threat could be recognized if one was looking for it, he ambled toward the long bar counter and snagged himself a stool. A slim datapad was extracted from a pouch adjacent to the blaster and laid out, the same hand to do the extracting brought up to his mouth where he removed his leather glove with his teeth. He powered on the device and made eye contact with the bar keep.

"Ale." He ordered quietly, turning his attention down to the encrypted text now scrolling across the screen.

[Li Ho Fook]

The 36th Chamber sat parked in an enclosed landing space as its owner rifled through his closet. Tatooine was a backwater dusthole, far from the pilot's native forest moon by more than just distance, and so his normal streetwear simply wouldn't cut it. Tracksuits? Nope. Hella fly tees and chains? Hardly. Sick-ass Mandalore Night Rangers jersey, doo-rag, and jeans with that bling? Not a chance. No, work here called for his adventure gear, a sleeveless onesie made of leather and reinforced kevlar, with a pair of matching bracers. Work meant business, and business meant mad paper.

Despite the Wah's vast collection of hats, Li Ho Fook chose a cloak with a hood to protect him from the harsh suns overhead, as the brim of a hat made it difficult to see everything around you when you were 4'2". Nah, a pair of tinted sun-goggles, complete with gold trim and Merestri logo on them would keep his beady little eyes shielded and hella chill, and that would be enough. A glance at his iced-out wrist chrono said it was time to head out at meet his new partner for this mission. Fook rarely worked with a partner, but never objected to it because if two guild bounty hunters were needed, the payday would be mad sick, yo.

The hatch behind him on his old squib ship closed, alarm beeping and garish lights flashing in unison as the diminutive hunter departed his private hangar. As long as the Guild was paying his parking, he'd take advantage of it fully. A pair of blaster pistols graced his thighs, souvenirs from the Catalina Blaster Exhibition, while energy pack cylinders lined the rest of his belt as if it were some sort of furry little superhero.

"Yo, G-dawg," he spoke aloud as he walked. A small holoprojected face appeared over his wrist chrono. "Navigate me, fam."

Wordlessly, the manifestation of his digital personal assistant program complied, and Fook followed its directions through the twisting, busy streets of whatever nameless dump of a town he'd landed in. If someone was hiding out here, they had to be worth mad coin. Like, sick mad coin. At last he found the cantina, and his heart sank as it hardly looked like the kind of place that would have Alderaan congac. Still, the sooner the job was done, the sooner he'd be rolling in fat stacks. Dropping his sun goggles down around his neck, the Wah peeled back his hood as he stepped inside.

Humans. So many humans. How a race could get so vast while lacking claws or a tail baffled the Wah, but it did no good to dwell on it as his navigation holo simply ended in an arrow pointing at one of the patrons. Great, his partner was going to be a human, too. So whack.

With speed and grace almost uncanny, Fook bounded up onto the next stool, waving down the barkeep before he could turn away. "Yo, and a G&T, dawg," he placed his own order before turning to the bearded, tattooed man beside him. "Need me to uplink so we can get with the decrypt, homie?"

[Alanie Herleva]

Not long after, Alanie parked the newly acquired speeder bike out front of the meeting place. It's rusty, dented body having seen better days, the bounty hunter cared less about the temporary conveyance as it was only meant to get her back to Bestine. Had the mark been intended on returning here alive to the benefactor of the contract, she would've made other arrangements. Swinging her left leg over the control panel and low handle bars, the slender, cinnamon toned human rose and headed for the cantina's front entrance. Buried in the shadow of a small alcove, the grey metal door slid aside and allowed the visitor in lighter, dark brown clothing and rust colored boots inside. Air full of cigarra smoke, perfume, body odor as well as music being played from a distant corner by a trio of Bith, Alanie instead scanned the crowd for her contact as she descended the short stair to the sandy floor. Commanding the center of the interior, seedy looking patrons stood or sat around the large, well lit bar where two female Twi'lek bartenders helped the human owner serve everyone, as well as fill orders for the Zeltron and Twi'lek waitresses.

Meandering through the patrons standing around busy tables, some glancing her way as she passed, Alanie soon noticed the Herglic male in a booth situated in one of the many alcoves. Accompanied by his quartet of Weequay and Barada guards, the bounty hunter confidently walked to the couch set across from the large alien, his beedy black eyes studying her as she approached.

"I heard you had great luck," the Herglic's heavy, slurred voice greeted. "Did you get it?"

Digging into her jacket pocket, she claimed the pendant and set it on the table, near the small, cone shaped luma lamp sported in the center of the circular table. Sitting back, she kept her attention on his guards as the Herglic's fat, stubby fingers claimed the gold necklace and studied it.

Sniffing, the long sloped head rose slightly as the crimelord grinned. "Nice. Should've called you weeks ago."

"Well," she shrugged. "I'm here now."

"Indeed," he chuckled and palmed the necklace as he sat back, his immense size nearly eclipsing the wall behind him. "So, about your payment. How about we double it for another task that I may have for you?"

Studying his face, hazel green eyes kept as close to unemotional as she could muster. "I still have operational costs," she reminded.

His large mouth arced up from the right corner. "And so you do," he began and tossed her a credstick.

Confirming the amount agreed upon, she noticed that it was half of what they had agreed on. This was going to be a problem....

[Diego Torres]

Keen reflexes were suppressed within a rod of tension that took the curvature right out of his spine, albeit temporarily. Green eyes sliced to his right, taking in the diminutive alien that clambered with practiced speed onto the stool neighboring his own. The smile he passed the sentient was cautious but not lacking in civility. Diego was by nature a very private individual, strange considering his innate talent of prying private information from inanimate objects; thus, cooperative missions were a rarity, if he had a say. Still, a contract taken out on his home turf inspired this and he wasn't one to grouse unnecessarily in the presence of strangers. He could be convincingly amicable, as well.

"Be my guest." He replied as smoothly as his gravelly inflection would allow, sliding the datapad closer to his compatriot with his still gloved hand. Then, busying himself with pulling the leather back into place on his other hand, he passed a nod to the bar keep, who deposited his drink on the heavily marked-up counter top before him. He quaffed the ale, running the back of his hand across the veil of foam that had gathered on his mustache; this gesture was accompanied by yet another furtive glance spared toward a rather dangerous collection of individuals that loitered in the shadows of the cantina's western most alcove.

The telltale buzz of his datapad redirected his attention, his gaze dipping to the now unencrypted text displayed there. "Rescuing spacers, is it? I know the place. Looks like our mark is running his operation out of the old waystation built over the power cables running from here to Tosche. Not too far from here. I can get us a speeder but considering the turret, we'll probably need to approach with caution. Thoughts?"

[Sanis Prent]

A silhouette darkened the curtain at the cantina door that kept out the worst of the sand glare at midday. That got the barkeep's attention. He craned his neck a bit to get a glimpse of the newcomer. When the curtain drew back, the man's ruddy complexion paled by a couple of shades.

"Mother of moons!"

He dropped the glass he'd been cleaning, which shattered on the floor as he backed away from the bar a quick two steps. Fight or flight was on him in a hurry. He didn't like his chances with the rusty old Arpon XK6 he kept sandwiched between the clean bar towels, so he decided to make a run for it. That lasted two steps to his right, before he saw a pair of visitors heading inside from the side entrance.

"Ah ah ah!" I chided, wagging a finger at the flighty barkeep. "This is supposed to be the best bar in Bestine. I'd hate to think I'd be waiting in this fly hole without prompt drink service. That'd probably cost you a star on Zelp."

He was sweating now. So was I, but it was a dry heat. A local like him? Took more than the desert to make him lose his cool. Not exactly a Sabacc player. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket, daubing a little at my forehead before I tossed the damp square at the bar man. He needed it more than I did, after all.

"You're Daywek Smett, yeah? And I'm guessing you already know who I am."

I gave a glance around the establishment. The usual assortment of hard cases, toughs, and characters for an Outer Rim bar. A Herglic I knew. A woman I knew of. A big galaxy, but not as big as you'd think.

My eyes settled back on Smett, who was now putting my hanky to brisk use. I laughed.

"What am I saying? I'm here where everybody knows your name. Right? Right??"

Tough crowd. I grinned as carefree as I could, slipping the shades off my face so my eyes could acclimate to the relatively low lighting of the cantina. Now I could see the man eye-to-eye. I sized him up, rocking back and forth on my heels as I tucked my shades into my jacket. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Xel and Jack shifting from foot to foot.

"Heh, krasst, look at me. Trying to do introductions without a little social lubricant. Guys, sit your asses down at the bar."

Xel was a big, scary looking fucker. Jack at least looked like a domesticated breed, as long as you didn't pay attention to his knuckle-studded clubs-for-hands. They took to barstools, screeching metal on duracrete as they sat. I wasn't sitting. Not yet.

"Well now that we've broken the ice - not that there's any to be found on goddamned Tatooine - we'll have three, uh...Corellian whisky's...splash of water..."

Something was on the tip of my tongue, and my hand hovered for a moment until I had it. My fingers snapped.

"Actually, no, forget that shit, because you guys charge for the water here? Am I right? Am I right?"

Smett needed a second pass with the handkerchief. He finished daubing again, nodding repeatedly as he clutched the damp article between his hands.

"Y-yes sir, Mr. Prent. There's a charge."

His eyes widened.

"B-but for you, there's..."

I waved that thought off his lips with a shake of my head.

"Hey, hey now. No need to kiss ass. I'm as upright of a galactic citizen as the rest of these schmucks. If I order water, I'll pay for it like everyone else. How much is the water?"

"Two credits, Mr. Prent."

"How much is the whisky?"

"Two credits for a shot."

That was fucking hilarious and I showed it, laughing out loud.

"Goddamn I do not miss Tatooine. Did you tell the dude with the gin and tonic over there about the surcharge?"

Daywek meekly pointed to a holographic sign posted next to the mirror behind the bar. It had a number, rounded off to three digits.

"The Hutt cartel posts a price adjustment each week per deciliter, Mr. Prent. It's...it's all above board."

"It's hyperlane-goddamned robbery, Daywek. That's not your fault, it is what it is. The Hutts just make the robbery bureaucratic. That's not my point."

I leaned forward on the bar, propping my elbows a bit.

"You see, my point is that water's precious here. Deciliter to deciliter, as expensive as booze. Scarcity makes people get creative. Recycle their waste water. Recycle their sweat. Recycle their piss. Bet you don't tell the tourists about that, huh?"

Smett winced. I winked.

"Industry secrets, huh. How about funerals? I'm sure you've known a few folks here who've kicked the bucket, right?"

The color drained from Smett's face again and he nodded weakly.

"Shit happens, People die. But that's the upshot here, right? Uncle Jek shuffles off, doesn't leave you shit. Not a credit to his name. But you've got his body."

I grinned.

"You take dearly departed Uncle Stiff down to your friendly neighborhood dessicatorium, pay the creepy mortician the devil's due, and after a lengthy and complicated marvel of science, you're given an urn full of...whatever, and a few jugs of clear liquid gold, hm? Am I right?"

Two seats down, Jack swallowed a grin, simply shaking his head and muttering karrabast. I continued.

"Humanoid standard, body composition's what, something like sixty percent water? Dead Uncle weighs a sturdy..."

I gave Smett an appraising glance.

"...let's say eighty kilos. Which means lucky Daywek gets to inherit a whopping total of..."

"...forty-eight kilos of water." Jack finished my thought, his eyes fixed squarely on the bartender, who gave a single, heavy gulp.

I laughed, jerking my head in the direction of my help.

"He's my accountant. Numbers guy. What's forty-eight kilos of water worth, at today's going rate, Jack?"

"A lot of goddamned money."

I gave a low whistle.

"It sure is."

I leaned back, lacing my fingers together on the counter while giving Smett a breezy smile.

"It's a good thing there's even better ways to make money on Tatooine. I mean, otherwise, this whole planet would just be some kind of murder orgy."

As if recalling the point of my whole conversation, I lightly tapped a hand to my forehead.

"Ah, I'm rambling. Don't mind me. Three Corellian whiskys - neat - for me and my friends."

My shoulders shrugged, and I gestured with slight deference back to the barman.

"One for you also. My treat. We've got a few things to talk about, right?"

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook took the datapad, carefully tapping in his access code with a finger pad, keeping one of his sharp claws from scratching the surface. The job hardly looked like fun, and he could immediately see why two hunters were needed for it, as one alone would simply get filled with blaster holes, and that was hella ill for a hunter. Beady little black eyes scanned over the rest of the text, gleaning any possible details, yet in the end he was left in as much of a quandary as his new partner. "Dag, at least we don't have to keep the hostage takers out of the morgue, know'm'sayin?" he mused to Diego.

As his drink arrived, the Wah took a sip. It was weak, but weighing in at 86 pounds the Wah had an advantage in consumption vs. blood alcohol level. Opening his mouth to give a suggestion about the turret, Fook paused. The room went quiet, and in a place such as this establishment, that meant only one thing: a mack had arrived. And when a mack lands in yo crib, a playa shuts up and pays attention.

Blah blah blah, water prices, blah blah blah dead guy, blah blah blah drink order. Nothing important. Other than Fook intended to make mad paper selling off his water supply before leaving this dusthole.

"Yo, you take ground, I can swoop in and pimp-slap that turret bitch with the 36'th Chamber, dawg. Play distraction, feel me?" he spoke in hushed tones before taking another drink.

Dag, that gin was mad whack. Mad, mad whack.

[Alanie Herleva]

As she pondered how to address this issue, assessing the guards as they then turned their attention on the newly arrived, overly loud patron, Alanie knew she could take them and at least wound the Herglic before he reached across the table to grab her. Right hand slid to her holstered pistol on her hip as the discussion between the human male and the bartender then grabbed her attention as well, which was when something familiar about his look piqued her interest. Smirking, she returned her attention back to her temporary benefactor. "This is light," she stated, setting the credstick back on the table, gaining the Herglic's attention, his dark orbs narrowing. "Not what we agreed on, and if you don't want to have a bounty put on your head by Black Sun, then you need to give me what we agreed on," Alanie motioned with her head to Sanis. "Or I let one of our lieutenant's know you're looking to screw one of us over."

Obviously pondering his odds, the large alien sniffed as his eyes danced between the two and she could tell that he was about to act first before she could do that, prompting her hand to wrap around the weapon's grip. Soon relenting, he nodded and took up the slender, white device and handed it to the Weeqay to his left. "Show this whelp what happens to those that cross...."

Quickdrawing, the bounty hunter fired one shot into the large head of the Herglic, snap-shotted the Barada to his right, then dove from the bench seat, rolling as she fired into the first Weequay now aiming at her, catching him in the chest as the last two drew as well. Dodging behind a pair of Duro businessmen, she took aim at the second Weequay, blaster fire now causing most to duck for cover or recoil....

[Diego Torres]

"True enough." He replied coolly, continuing to scan across the data provided by the guild on their linked datapads. Forest green eyes eventually darted to the bartender as the glass the man was cleaning hit the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces. Daywek was on the move only a millisecond later, hustling toward the side exit; only to be halted midstep by a pair of men blocking off his escape route. A voice that easily commanded the attention of those present sounded shortly thereafter. Diego watched the interaction between the barkeep and the stranger with growing interest; having known one of the pair, not intimately, but merely from frequenting the establishment. He palmed his ale, taking another hearty sip as his eyes followed the beads of sweat trickling down the tender's brow.

Bestine certainly hadn't changed since he'd left the orphanage years ago. The cantina was still brimming with unsavory activity, everyone in it having committed more illicit crimes than most authorities knew and probably in the midst of further contributing to the statistic. Mr. Prent, he caught the name even through the barkeep's stuttering; he was familiar with it but not the man himself. Diego arched a brow, causing the green tattoos on his cheek to stretch upward with the expression. The man in question had meandered toward the bar, taking up a place not very far from where he sat. Movement out of the corner of his eye stole his attention toward the woman and the Herglic; espying the subtle finger movements that promised a quick draw at any moment.

Diego swirled the ale remaining in his glass and then finished it off, rising from his stool and taking a stroll around the bar counter. He bumped open the stub swinging door with his thigh, flashing a glance toward his comrade. A second later, he was in the midst of ducking behind the counter when the first shots were fired. A blaster bolt went clean through the glass he had been drinking out of, fired wildly from the remaining thugs the lady had been dealing with. His own blaster was removed from its holster, in the event that anyone got confused about who had started this shit show. He had been drawn into cantina shoot-outs since he'd first visited one and so for him, this was just another day on the dren-hole that was Tatooine.

"I've got the ground. Head west along the Junjo Ridge, can't miss the place. Oh and.. try not to get shot on your way out." He said loudly over the uproar of the cantina. What had started out as a skirmish had evolved into a full on bar fight; a number of spacers and locals, too deep in their cups, had flipped some of the tables and were exchanging shots; regardless of who had started the fight. Diego moved along the backside of the bar quickly but cautiously, sparing one last glance toward the man named Mr. Prent. He tipped his hat and then moved along, aiming to be out the side door before any stray shots found him.

[Li Ho Fook]

At the first blaster shot, Fook rolled his eyes, though the action was scarcely noticeable. This was why he preferred class joints instead of cheap dives, they tended to get shot up less and bounty hunters were typically of the smarter variety when there was a cover charge and some sick-ass wallpaper. Tipping back the rest of his G&T, the Wah nodded to Diego, though he didn't leave his seat on the barstool until his new partner seemed safe.

Only then did the 4'2", fur-covered bounty hunter slide off of his stool to stand next to it, pocketing his datapad while withdrawing a small metallic sphere. "Yo, G-dawg, spot-check these fools and tank me my bank," he spoke, and the holo on his wrist chrono flared to life while he tossed the sphere up into the fray.

A burst of light pulsed from the gadget, performing a nearly instant 3D scan of the bar's occupants, comparing facial recognition against the bounty hunter's guild database. Those whose life signs no longer registered were flagged as wanted men, and a cool 18,000 credits was deposited directly into his guild account, as he was first to claim the bounties, even if he wasn't involved in the hunt or killing of the targets. First-come, first-serve, suckas. Sure, the little gizmo was a one-time-use, expensive little toy at nearly a grand, but it was all about a playa's return on investment, and that small paper investment had just turned into mad paper returns.

Blasters remaining in their holsters, Fook walked casually through the swinging door to the back of the bar, intent on following Diego out. Fook's business in the cantina was done, and more pressing matters lay ahead for the pair.

[Sanis Prent]

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding m-"

All hell broke loose. Funny thing is, muscle memory doesn't change with your wardrobe. It had been a while since I'd had to duck shots, but I could do that in bespoke seersucker (it is a hot desert, after all) and mid-ankle boots (it is a sandy desert, after all) just as well as I could in reinforced mechanics pants and steel-toes. You read eyes, faces, hands, shoulders, and feet. If you're good (the kind of good that's still alive - the only kind of good that counts), you're on the move at just about the same time you feel heat around the corner.

I don't even know what sold it for me. If you asked me later, I wouldn't be able to tell if it was the look of the Herglic's crocodile smile or the way the hunter tapped her little finger on her blaster, or any of that. It could be anything or nothing at all. But once it jumped off, I was gone.

I slid over and across the bar, those very same mid-ankle dewback-skin boots kicking earthenware tumblers aside as I cleared the edge. Bonus points for landing on the balls of my feet, though any landing you walk away from is the good sort. On that note, it didn't look like Daywek Smett would be walking anywhere - ever. He sat crumpled against the far wall of the bar, a smoking hole in his head and a stupid look on his face. That's probably what did him in - a half second too long making a stupid look on his face instead of saving his ass.

Bad for Daywek. Bad for me.

"Oh what the...ASS! Fuck! Fuuuck!"

I palmed the mother of pearl piece I kept for my dressy shenanigans. Slim contour, rounded actuator. Good draw and weight if I didn't have to hit anything with armor - or Herglics.

I popped up from my hiding spot, drawing a bead on the first unfortunate Weequay just as Jack and Xel unloaded the kitchen sink on him. I shot the guy for stress relief more than anything else. The last remaining shooter had taken a half second to think about his own self preservation, upturning his table to serve as makeshift cover. Good against my blaster. Bad against Jack's slugthrower. A crack and a whine later, a hole ran clean through the table, through the Weequay, and through the sandstone wall of the cantina. Sometimes you just have to hope that your backstop isn't a troop of girl scouts standing in a row.

I stood up straight, as annoyed as anything else. Cleared the bar again, strode across the room, and pushed the muzzle of my blaster into the nearest beady eye of the malingering Herglic.

BZAT BZAT

Can't be too careful. Took the big guy's napkin, as he wasn't needing it anymore, and cleaned the muzzle of my blaster. A lot of furious scrubbing, as I glowered in Twitchy Fingers' direction.

"You just cost me a lot of money."

[Alanie Herleva]

As the fighting continued on in other corners of the room, Alanie kept low as she quickly moved to the Weequay first, holstering her pistol and then began rifling his pockets and finding not only two credsticks, but also his polished virbroblade which she took. "Might wanna keep down," she stated and moved to the other three guards, then the Herglic, reclaiming the pendant and his credstick. Tossing the lightest of the six credsticks that she found to him, this one with over fifty thousand credits on it, she grinned. "This should at least cover part of it, I'd think." Crouched as four Twi'lek males finished a fight to her left with two Gamorreans, Alanie stood noticing the remaining conflicts on the far side of the bar now fading out.

Motioning to the dead Herglic, "He was looking to back out on a contract with the Black Sun, which was unfavorable to our coffers. So I shot him." Winking at the lieutenant, "You'll still get your cut, as always." Blue green eyes soon noticed the pair running toward the back door, one an overly bling'ed, furry alien as well as several others now intent on following them out.

Eyeing Sanis, "You have anyone else here that needs to be collected or taken care of?"

[Diego Torres]

Diego squinted as he emerged from the cantina, tipping the brim of his hat lower over his eyes with a flick of his index finger. Well, he couldn't say that he was surprised about how things had turned out. In hindsight, the cantina probably wasn't the best place to discuss their plans but he didn't really trust any of the shopkeepers around the area to keep their mouths shut about their strategy. In fact, Diego was willing to bet that Willins Arko, the used speeder dealer he was aiming to see shortly, was under the thumb of whatever band of miscreants was responsible for abducting offworlders.

"Name's Diego, by the way." He finally introduced himself, grinning down at his partner; a member of a species he had never personally encountered before. He was glad to have a comrade who could keep his cool under pressure, his quick thinking landing him a hefty score with that gadget he'd employed before they'd departed. Resourceful was good, he'd been paired off with a number of other hunters in the past that had definitely made jobs more difficult.

The Kiffar shoved the blaster he'd brandished back into its holster and tugged the edges of his gloves higher along his wrists. "Might be able to get some additional info from someone before we head out. Guy's a little shy around me, though." He offered informatively, never breaking his stride; which was guiding them toward Arko's Speeder Emporium on the outskirts of the settlement.

Dust kicked up as they walked, prompting him to drag the grey scarf bunched around his throat over the lower portion of his face. He flicked a glance back toward the cantina, silently hoping that his recent disagreement with Draba the Hutt wouldn't set those individuals, who had emerged victorious from the skirmish, on his trail. Tatooine was a decent place to lay low for the sole fact that it was a wasteland, discouraging any impromptu visits from most. Still, the reputation of this fact had grown and even someone like him couldn't hope to have their secrets kept out of the light for long.

"Ah, Arko. My friend. How's business?" Diego suddenly boomed as they rounded one of the domed buildings and entered the speeder strewn perimeter of the partially shaded emporium. Willins was currently moping sweat from the back of his neck with a dirty kerchief, his eyes popping up at the prospect of customers. When the Devaronian noticed who'd come calling, he immediately broke into a run in the opposite direction.

Diego sighed quite audible, raising his right wrist and firing a whipcord at the salesman. The prong tipped cord snapped around his leg and brought him down like a sack of bantha droppings, his horned head smacking against the ground with a resounding thud. The bounty hunter moved forward, the launcher mounted on his wrist eating up the slack as he approached.

"D-D-Diego, what're you doing back in Bestine?" He huffed against the dust, his beady eyes rolling up to the Kiffar who stooped down in a crouch over his prone body.

"I think you might have an inkling, Arko. Something's got you running. What kind of decorum is that? Here I am, bringing a new friend along and you're making me seem like some kinda plague." Diego scolded playfully, pulling his right glove off as his smile dissolved into a reluctant grimace.

[Li Ho Fook]

Fook's black-furred paws simultaneously drew up his hood and tugged his tinted, gold-rimmed goggles down over his eyes the moment he left the shade of the cantina. Guan Yu, his ship's AI system, quietly tallied the Wah's expenditures vs. profits thus far on the assignment, while also calculating how much could be made selling the 36'th Chamber's water stores on the open market. The numbers which scrolled across the subscreen in Fook's goggles were most pleasing indeed. Fly, yes, but not hella fly yet, as the assignment itself hadn't completed and he wasn't seeing his cut for that, yet.

For each step the Kiffar took, Fook needed to take two, and yet his bare footpaws had little difficulty keeping up. "Yo, Diego, I'm Fook, Li Ho Fook. Most call me the Grandmaster," he replied whilst en route. Beyond that, the Wah was happy to remain quiet and keep an eye out for more trouble. All he knew of the mission was that there were captives to be freed, and that his partner was some sort of local expert. With such scant information, aside from location and a few satellite photos, Fook allowed himself to become part of the background, observing and learning to determine his most effective role.

As it turned out, he wasn't the only one with a cool gadget up his sleeve, and his pointed little fangs gleamed in the sun, so wide was his smile at Diego's whipcord takedown. "Hella tight, dawg," he nodded in sincere appreciation as Diego advanced.

Fook advanced as well, though indirectly. Dropping to all fours, he dashed off at incredible speed to the left, swinging an arc through parked secondhand speeders before cutting back in to slide to a standing stop on the other side of Arko's head, sharp toeclaws ripping little furrows into the ground.

"Dag, Arko," the Wah shook his head while crossing his arms in mock disappointment. "Homie here said you was poppin' sick deals on phat rides, then you go all jump? That's whack, dawg, and I don't like whack, feel me?" The short alien's thickly furred, stripe-ringed tailtip bobbed against the ground in the manner a big man would clap a club into his off-hand in warning of a fight.

[Sanis Prent]

I snatched the offered trifle away with no small bit of contempt on my face.

"Fifty thousand's a down payment at best, Herleva."

I tucked the credits away in my jacket, holstering my weapon in the process.

"It will cost at least that much to front another franchisee out here. Probably could have sorted Pod-Icebreaker's gang out without..."

My hand gestured to the carnage arranged all around us.

"...all this. Blood's not cheap, even in a shit hole like Tatooine. You're paid to squeeze triggers, not to make the decision when to do it. Now I'll have to run all this up the flagpole to corporate and figure out who will hold what's ours before the Hutts get ideas."

Turning with disgust, I headed back to the bar, stepping over poor Daywek's body to reach for the bottle of whisky I'd ordered. I measured a bit into a glass as Jack and Xel returned from mop-up.

"Daywek Smett here was supposed to find a fence for some of intellectual property which turned up missing. It's not the fact that he's dead that pisses me off, it's the timing. He knew the sellers and the buyers."

I glanced back over my shoulder at the Company's hunter.

"Ticking clock for us. Won't take long for word to get out about this little shootout. I can slice Daywek's comms and data and maybe a name or a contact will fall out. As for you? That money's not yours yet. Run down those other two hunters. Make them an offer out of your own pocket, and form a crew."

I took a level off my whiskey.

"Don't show your face until you've got those loose ends tied up."

[Alanie Herleva]

Keeping her opinions on the matter to herself, she knew that she still had yet to make her name within the Black Sun, so anything that didn't go the way that someone else thought it should have only made things more complicated. Hazel green eyes glanced toward the far entrance and nodded without any preamble, then took off. Jogging between others picking themselves up or nursing new wounds, she avoided any more confrontations as she was soon outside. Quickly scanning the surrounding area, she jogged out into the hot suns and slowed her pace, searching for the taller Kiffar which would be much easier to spot than the smaller, furred alien that seemed to be running with him. Noticing an older scout seated on a rusted engine coil against the cantina, she neared him and cleared her throat.

"Happen to see a Kiffar in darker colors running with a small, furry alien wearing a lot of gold?"

He glanced up to her, leathery face cracked and scarred, deep blue eyes gleaming like two pools set within, and he nodded. "Yep."

A long silence followed and she knew the information wasn't going to come without a bribe or violence. "Care to tell me where they went?" As she watched him roll his cigarra, equally rough hands gently performing the task as he remained quiet. Clearing his throat, he soon looked up to her again.

"Haven't eaten in a while," his gravely voice revealed.

Liar. Digging into her pocket, she removed several cred coins equalling a hundred and held them out. As he moved to claim them, she closed her hand. "Something for something, otherwise you can keep starving."

He grinned, then pointed his gaze toward a fair sized, sandstone building surrounded by speeders. "In there."

Handing him the money, she nodded. "Thanks." Moving toward the target address, avoiding other speeder traffic and strolling thugs, she soon entered the emporium to notice the interrogation going on. Grinning, Alanie glanced through the variety of advertisements and spare parts on shelves as she gained the attention of the apparent store owner.

"Closed," Arko stated.

"Door's open," she motioned back to the entrance and dome of sunlight pouring into the main lobby. "I'm not here for you anyway," she motioned with her eyes to the Kiffar and his companion. "Don't worry, I'll wait."

Arko moved to rise, eyeing Diego, "If you got other business, we can talk later...."

Alanie smiled as she leaned against the nearby counter, arms crossed.

[Diego Torres]

Arko's eyes swiveled to Li Ho Fook and a breath wafted through his nostrils, stirring the sand strewn across the floor of the emporium. A flick of his wrist disengaged the prongs on the whipcord, the remaining slack whining as it was retracted into the concealed spool within his gauntlet. Reaching down, the bounty hunter snagged the Devaronian by his dirty lapels and yanked him forcibly to his feet. With a rather rough shove, he put the man against the hood of the nearby orange-lacquered speeder and aimed a dubiously angelic smile down at him.

"I don't know nothing!" Arko squawked as his back impacted the expensive-looking vehicle, one eye squinting in preparation for a blow. In truth, Diego's hand was poised in such a fashion that the threat of it could not be misconstrued.

"Anything. And yes, you do." Diego replied in a smooth monotone, dipping his ungloved hand against the alien's face. Arko went still and Diego tipped his own head back, his pupils shifting back and forth rapidly as his psychometric abilities set to work. It was like watching a holo-vid on extreme fast-forward, flashes and entire scenes of little import gathering within his mind. When he saw flickers of the outpost in the Junjo Ridge, he exerted ample effort to rake in as much information as possible; while he had been practicing control over such things for some time, it was still difficult with resistant subjects.

Diego jerked his hand away from Arko, releasing his vise grip on the man's lapels that pinned him down to the speeder. "You've been bringing them supplies. Not just any hostages either. They've got Senator Beh-"

Diego was pivoting on his heel toward Li Ho Fook when he noticed the woman from the cantina loitering at the point of sale. A dark brow rose toward the rim of his wide brimmed hat and he slowly pulled his glove back on while surveying her. He lowered his hand once it was swathed once more, hooking it into the leather strap binding the blaster holster slung around his hips. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" He asked with a polite burr, slicing a warning look at Arko when he started to fidget.

[Li Ho Fook]

With his beady, black eyes hidden behind the dark lenses of his goggles, Fook was free to be as expressive as he wished, and at first his look was one of cautious curiosity. The Wah had seen some weird-ass shit in his day, but the facehugger handshake Diego gave the speeder dealer was something new and decidedly disturbing. He'd heard of some kind of psychic race which could steal thoughts by touch, and that was the only explanation he could give to the scene which played out before him. It was with great relief that Fook reminded himself that he was covered with fur, and therefore skin-to-skin contact would be immensely difficult for his current partner, should Diego attempt to try something like that on him.

Well, that and the Wah would go straight-up Shaolin on his ass if he even tried.

His eyes and ears snapped back to attention at the mention of the word "Senator," and suddenly the credit signs rolled up behind his eyes. There was an unwritten rule that the moment that a politician got involved, a Bounty Hunter's Guild contract value shot up, and Fook smiled to himself at the thought of even fatter stacks. Tail bobbing lightly, the diminutive hunter had not let Alanie go unseen, but he didn't pay her much mind, either. Arms unfolding, he let his fuzzy, black paws slide down to grasp his belt, fingers curling over a pair of cylindrical blaster power cells which ringed it.

"You got business with us, homegirl, you gots to to through the Guild, feel me?" he said. The glint of light from the mother-of-pearl grips on one of the blasters at his hips did the rest of his speaking for him.

[Alanie Herleva]

Scanning the shop's interior, Alanie listened to the exchange and then the long silence that followed which gained her full attention. The Kiffar's actions as he stared up at the ceiling gained the same reaction in her as well, though momentarily as she then realized he had some unique power. The revelation of information gained was confirmation and she knew at least one of these two would be valuable allies. Temporarily. A senator being held by an affiliate of this speeder owner was secondary to what Alanie needed, though she also wondered if all this was related in some way. Time would definitely tell.

Diego's query followed by the short, furred alien prompted a reply. "Sanis wanted me to hire you both for a job," she began, glancing to the victim of the Kiffar's attention. "Perhaps he's involved with the information that we're after. I'll get some more details here shortly." Having no idea what all would be involved was going to be problematic as far as how long she would need their help. Regardless of what Sanis thought about her actions in the cantina, she wasn't responsible for his contact's death, but he made it her problem now and she had to work with that. "If you're done with him," she posed as more of a question than comment.

[Diego Torres]

Whether or not Diego was effected by the shift in their expressions, undoubtedly due to his unnerving talents, was indeterminable. It was business as usual, no offhanded comments extended toward what had just occurred between him and the speeder dealer; which was precisely how he liked it. He wasn't pleased to have another individual privy to their score, potential problems presenting themselves as obstacles at the forefront of his mind should anyone else catch wind of their task.

"Is that so..." Sanis Prent. While he was not personally acquainted with the man, his reputation certainly proceeded him. Diego generally loathed associating himself with big names. He was content with the lifestyle he led, keeping to himself and taking jobs here and there that paid what few bills he had. Involving himself with someone like Prent assured some abrupt and not altogether pleasant changes in his routine. Considering the debacle in the cantina, he need look no further for an example of the chaos the man left in his wake. Or, this woman for that matter.

"We're already on a job, ma'am. So, unless you or Mr. Prent have information pertinent to the task at hand, we'll be on our way." He said, his thumb and index finger pinching the wide brim of his hat and pulling it down in a polite gesture. "I'm taking the RGC-18, Arko. I'll try to bring it back in one piece."

"You can't just-"

"It's what you've been using to deliver supplies. They won't think twice about it pulling up. Hand over your comm." He outstretched his hand, the Devaronian sputtering in place for a moment before he begrudging dropped the same piece of tech into Diego's palm. He pocketed it and then held out his hand once more. "And the other one."

"Damn you, Diego...."

Another comm plopped into his palm and this one, he offered to Li Ho Fook. "Transmissions from that comm have been going right to their hold. Should give you the most accurate signal for the 36'th Chamber, you said?"

[Li Ho Fook]

"Word, homie," Fook nodded with a grin as he took the second comm. "I'll get G-dawg to fetch us dem digits."

It was a welcome distraction to the woman's presence, as Fook had not only heard of Sanis Prent, but knew the kind of cash money he could throw around. Such sums could be tempting, but Diego was right, they already had a job and it needed to be completed before any more work could be accepted. Patching the comm into his wrist-top computer, his claws rattled over the keyboard before a green progress bar began to move. Only then did he give any further attention to Alanie.

"Job shouldn't take long, homegirl. This Prent cat still wants quality work done, he can hit up the Guild and request the Grandmaster, feel me?" the Wah spouted. A beep from his wrist computer signaled completion of his triangulation efforts, and he smiled. The 36'th Chamber could have been airborne and en route to his position already, yet Fook let it remain parked as there seemed to be a good deal of information that he and Diego needed to cover in private. Location, the presence of a senator, the sort of details which shouldn't be discussed in front of some errand girl to a middle-management gangster. Or their source.

Reaching behind his back, Fook withdrew a chunky, short-barreled blaster pistol, and clicked the dial on its rear face three ticks over. "Yo, D-Dawg, we done with this sucka?" he asked, nodding to Arko before pointing the blaster directly at him. When no reply came immediately, he pulled the trigger and trio of blue energy rings blasted the prostate Devaraonian into unconsciousness. Blowing imaginary smoke off the barrel of his stun blaster, common gear for most any self-respecting bounty hunter, Fook snorted, "Well, we are now."

[Alanie Herleva]

Unsure what planet the small furry alien was from, it took a moment to understand some of his language though the context was clear. Watching as the two got what they needed and then stunned the shopowner, Alanie was now having to think on her feet which was normally easy. But, right now she had too few variables to work with and that alone was posing a problem. Unsure how the group they were after was affiliated with the information that Sanis needed her to retrieve, this was going to have to be improvisation at it's finest.

One of the many things that her master at the orphanage had taught her well.

"If it's a group that you're going after and Sanis needs information about something they're affiliated with, then we all have something in common already. Two avians and all that," she grinned. "So, when do we leave?"

[Diego Torres]

Diego's brow creased in consternation beneath the wide brim of his hat, his face angling down to further disguise the wry twist of this mouth. He was half tempted to truss the woman up and leave her behind with his unconscious Devaronian friend. Future job prospects offered by one Sanis Prent might be steered elsewhere if they snubbed his messenger, though. Still, the woman was a wild card in a situation that needed to be handled with the utmost tact given the numbers they were going up against. He looked up then, his piercing green eyes finding her while one gloved hand raised, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of impatience. His gaze flicked to his partner then, gauging his own thoughts on their current predicament before he sighed and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Don't get in our way." The warning was more of a promise, a dangerous glint scattering across the grey-green composition of his irises as he passed her. He paused at a cloth covered mass situated on a tilted podium, snagging the corner in his gloved fist and giving it a brusque yank. The shroud fell away with the motion, revealing a neutral hued landspeeder that would otherwise seem standard if not for the turret welded into the front most part of the chassis and the accompanying control console in between the driver and passenger seats. Clearing the side of the speeder with a spry leap, Diego settled into the driver's seat and punched the ignition, glancing back toward them as the turbine engines howled to life.

"Fook, given the most recent update on the situation, I think we need to talk. We can chat on the way, pull in some reconnaissance, and then execute." Another glance was spared toward the woman. She was on her own if she wanted to tag along.