Restless and Resourceful (Alanie)

[Blacktung]

By the great maw of Izax customs was a nightmare! It took much arguing over the comm to be cleared to land. If not for his Guild membership the Station of Jovan may have never let him dock after reviewing his cargo manifest. They said he had too many weapons. He argued that he did not have nearly enough to pose a threat to the whole station. He did not have nearly enough thermal clips, after all. They did not like that. Not at all. Finally he talked them into allowing him to dock should he allow them to search his vessel to confirm that every last weapon was properly stored away and that he had nothing on his person before entering the station. Once again his guild membership was the pebble that tipped the scale into his favor.

The Izilith connected to one of the docking spires, and true to their word there was a search party waiting on the other side of the airlock. They found the ship satisfactory, even if dirty, and allowed him and his companion to enter, but not before he was searched so thoroughly he had to prey that Scyva to look away. The Mother was sorrowful enough without seeing one of her children accosted so. Thankfully his shame was short lived and he was allowed his trousers back without delay. He was given a scornful warning, accompanied by a finger jabbed in his direction. He only had smiles for them, and complimented them on a job well done.

One obstacle was defeated, but there were many more in the way of the Zakuulan. His mix of leather, fur, and armor plates drew attention from the civilized denizens of the station as he passed, but he paid them no heed. His mind was otherwise occupied trying to remain sane at the sight of so many viewports looking out into the inky darkness of space; a grim reminder at every turn that he was not standing upon dirt. The unsettling feeling threatened to consume him. There was no joy to be found in space; only cold and disease. Planetside he could run, swim, and dig himself to safety. Here all it took was a shattered viewport and he would die in space, and not in battle as he would prefer.

Several corridors and turbolifts, and backtracking twice, he arrived at his destination. The Jovan Station Bounty Hunter's Guild office. The small reception room within was far more sterile than many of the other offices he had been on. There were few trophies and holos showing off famous hunters and bounties. It was very clean. As if space stations were not terrible enough. A man stood behind a reinforced glass viewport with nothing but a small speaker set in the center to allow communication between it. Blacktung tapped a dirty fingernail against the Transparisteel.

"Greetings, brother. I wish to speak with the Hunt Master."

The man raised his nose and mumbled that it would be a moment. Bowing his head respectfully, Blacktung retreated to a rather uncomfortable chair and motioned for his companion to join him.

"I told you I would find the office. Check a map, this one one says. Ha! I could track a Gizka through the sea. This was but a trifle."

[Alanie Herleva]

Cleanliness aboard the vessel enroute to their destination left quite a bit to be desired, though being the guest of her fellow hunter Alanie didn't complain. Much. Making her own small living space bearable was a constant task as they traveled to Jovan, a station that she had limited time to get to know. The Zakuulan was a different matter however, and she made the most of her time aboard learning all she could. Intelligence on everyone, even potential assets, was paramount. One never knew when your fellow hunter may be the next mark on the list.

Going through the cursory checks was nothing new and Alanie had learned well how to hide weapons and if the law level was so high that she couldn't, other items could easily be found later to compensate. Nodding to the Port Authority security officer, she took up her pack and shouldered it as she followed Blacktung to the office. Avenues crowded with a variety of species had also become the norm on most of her missions, though getting used to the host of smells that emanated from them wasn't as easy. Blue-green eyes kept an eye on everything and everyone, dismissing most as they passed by and she hoped that no one that was looking for her would show up at the least opportune moment as well. Voices filled the air, languages that were mostly unknown though not totally unrecognizable as they moved and soon discovered the address they had been summoned to.

Stepping in, the cozy confines of the lobby assaulted the assassin with wanted posters littering the wall as well as a comm station which held the higher ranked bounties accessed by a special card or ident, she assumed. Turning her attention back to the portly, unshaven man on the opposite side of the glass, she watched him move to a nearby door and disappear through it. Sighing, she turned and headed to another empty chair and plopped into it. Setting her pack upon the floor at her feet, she relaxed finally.

"Map," she grinned, nodding. "Yes, exceptional intuition there." Her judging gaze drifted back up and around the walls to the variety of faces that were all wanted for minor infractions, "Wonder how often hunters actually visit this office."

[Curzon Esrimoure]

The places that were least desirable often invited the most interesting and sought-after things. Whether they be people, items, bounties, or chances for something new and breathtaking. So many times he had gone and immersed himself in those sorts of environments - the ones that those younger scoffed at. And yet, more often than not, there was more life found in places such as Jovan Station. Life enough to rival even an entire galactic spiral. Perhaps it was because the people of that spiral came here? It was a great question that he never thought too hard on. So many years had given him a certain eye for those locations that held the most diversity. And where there was diversity, there was growth and opportunity. Who could say whether the next hunt would be the last, or whether the next payout would be the one to encourage retirement? There was truly no way to know for sure, and that was why he was still here.


Yet, he had given up 'the chase'.


Such a thing was for those far younger. For him now was an existence of information. After nearly five decades of hunting, searching, collecting, and chasing, he had felt comfortable enough to take on the mantle of Hunt Master. He had amassed a sizable amount of knowledge in his years, and now was his chance to truly serve the very institution that had aided and taught him so much.

His office, here on Jovan, was a simple room tucked away in the back of the already small bureau. Dimly lit with meditation candles and a bare collection of faint glowpanels, the air swirled with the heady scents of incense and aromatic oils being burned. Contemplative silence was mostly the natural state of the small office, as he sat amidst a sea of brightly colored cushions at the low table that served as his desk. Datapads and flimsis rested before him, each one holding secrets and treasures. There was a flimsi set to the side, with a tally of the latest hunts and claims, and with a stylus in hand, the old man occasionally made notations as he continued to read.



* * *




When the clerk made his reappearance, he let out a grunt before his voice carried through the speaker in the window.


"Hunt Master's busy, but says he'll meet with you anyway. Y'gots five minutes."


A moment later there was a click-buzz, and the narrow door toward the back of the small waiting area popped open a fraction of an inch.

[Blacktung]

"What favor. Scyva smiles upon us, Hunter." Blacktung exclaimed loudly, as he did so with everything he said, and punctuated with it with a tactless slap on the shoulder delivered to his fellow Bounty Hunter. Getting up from his chair he moved for the door, sticking his fingers into the gap and pulling it open the rest of the way. A narrow corridor lead him to a rear office. It was almost with relief that he smiled at the sight of the cozy nook, with it's simple decorations. Too fancy for his own taste, no doubt. He wouldn't know what to do with all those embroidered pillows, but it was still a simpler lifestyle that the sterile offices the people of this galaxy preferred.

Desks were an abomination easily dispatched with a vibroblade.

Bowing his head he took after the Hunt Master's form and knelt down before the short table. "Greetings Master of Hunts. I am Blacktung, and Alanie is my companion. We hunt dangerous prey and seek your wisdom. Our target is the lady Loklorien S'Ilancy."

[Alanie Herleva]

Grinning, she had gotten used to his praise to some unseen deity and dismissed it out of hand as she rose, not totally expecting the slap on the shoulder as she did so. Nearly firing a return shot, Alanie refrained and instead shouldered her pack once more, taking in a deep breath and relaxed as he opened the door to the office and led her in. Blue-green eyes took in the attendant as portly fingers once more returned to his computer console.

Entering the private chambers recalled her own master's study, though the aroma rising lazily from the various holders in the room wasn't immediately known. Keeping to herself, she claimed a thickly embroidered pillow to Blacktung's right and sat down. Her mind then shifted to the main reason they were here and hoped this older man whose demeanor and rough hands told of a similar lifestyle.

[Curzon Esrimoure]

The stylus never wavered as he continued to count the marks, and every so often add a tally mark. He had heard the request, but the processing of something of this magnitude was a world apart. Half-lidded eyes skimmed down the list on his 'pad before flitting to the flimsi to make sure that his marks matched. It was a laborious process for some, but for him there was peace to be found in the act of checking and double-checking. It was calming, and let the brain relax.

"Dwa shay," his voice was quiet, yet laced with deep rumblings and a gravel that gave weight to his years.

His eyes did not look up, instead staying on the task of now triple-checking.

"You got de desire to do sometin very stupid, young man."

[Blacktung]

"Aye."

A smile had crept across his dirty face. It was hard to contain the excitement that was growing inside him as at every turn this Loklorien is revealed to be a greater foe. Truly it will be a grand hunt, and perhaps the hunt that finally brings his end. There was no doubt in his mind that he would die in battle some day. Dying an old man asleep in your bed was not the ending he desired. There was no honor in that. On the battlefield with Tyth at his back until his body finally failed and Aivela bore his body through the tears of Scyva to be devoured by Izax. To become one with the great creator and ultimate destroyer. The only end more grand would be to stand against Zildrog upon the day of his return.

"The Empire has requested the capture of Loklorien. Tell us, wise and noble Hunt Master, where might we find her?"

[Alanie Herleva]

Alanie grinned at the older man's reply and observation. She had seen Blacktung's lifestyle and had been around him enough now to know when someone trusted in faith to supplement their better judgments. Mistakes that the trained assassin refrained to make. Her companion's revelation of their purpose to the visit then focused her mind to the Master Hunter's streetwise and connections, hoping that the pair of hunters sent here by the pasha's benefactor would be rewarded.

Leaning in slightly, blue-green eyes settled on the older man's demeanor and expressions. Body language betrayed everyone, all the time she mused.

[Curzon Esrimoure]

Silence settled down upon the three, burrowing into every small nook and cranny that it could and only allowing itself to be disturbed by the occasional tik tik... tik... tik of the Hunt Master's stylus. His gnarled fingers moved with deceptive grace as his old eyes - still sharp - completed their task of the triple-check. It was not something that took an incredible amount of time, especially when one had done so for a great many years. Ensconced in his office and surrounded by the soothing scents of his aromas and oils, the old man was more than happy to live out the rest of his years on this station. His was a mostly quiet existence, and he welcomed the slower pace.

Another few minutes passed before he finally lifted blue-flecked grey eyes, as quick and discerning as when he was a much younger man.

First he looked to the woman, watching her for but a moment in idle curiosity. He blinked, offered her a genteel smile while setting down the stylus, and gave the slightest dip of his head in respectful acknowledgement.

And then his gaze shifted to her companion. The man who had spoken of his foolish desires.

"I'm t'inkin'... " a pause, as he reclined a small bit on his own pillows. One hand came to rest on the table, palm flat against the aged wood.

"A man dat t'inks de Empire gon give him what he deserves for a bounty like dis... dat man got a touch of'da fyah feevah."

There was no room for humor in the old man's words.

"What you t'ink you do, when you lookin' into da face of a suvivah of da Old Purge? Ain't no accident dat one still alive."

A slow grimace creased his features then, as he went on.

"What kinda person you t'ink de Captain is, den? Do either of you know about de woman you're so desperate ta find?"

[Blacktung]

"My true reward cannot come from the Empire's coffers. Verily, I would accept this challenge for free if I had not a mouth to feed."

His smile was not diminished by the Hunt Masters vaguely shrouded barbs, rather his slow burning reveal of the true identity of Loklorien S'Ilancy made him more excited. Clearly she was a dangerous woman for the Hunt Master to be questioning his sanity for taking the contract. With every cryptic sentence a greater challenge was revealed. Verily, he was correct to come to the Hunt Master. The Imperial Knight would see him thrown against rocks without warning him of the currents. Perhaps he would need to be more cautious when accepting bounties from them in the future.

"Only what the Empire has said; that she is a Alliance Captain, Jedi Master, and that she was last seen on the planet Manaan. Ha! A worthy foe, no?"

[Alanie Herleva]

The query had her also recounting the discussions they had with the Selonian benefactor and though she had enough to go on, there was still more that could be known. Knowledge was always valuable, she mused and then turned her eyes to her companion as he spoke what she had been thinking. They had a target that was more than experienced and she had to admit to herself, the thrill of a true challenge was an enticing one. But, also one that could end their careers fairly quickly if they weren't careful.

Blue-green eyes turned back to the master and now hoped that he had more light to shed on the woman. "Very little more than that," she stated, finally voicing an opinion.

[Curzon Esrimoure]

It was clear that the two would not be deterred in their desires, and with a long sigh the old man let himself fall into a quiet contemplation. The man seemed of the type to chase his quarry with the inent of self-challenge; the monetary values were obviously of no concern other than to make sure that his belly was full and his ship was maintained. There looked to be no want for higher living or riches for this one. The woman was a shade more difficult to pick apart however. She seemed content to watch, staying silent until only a moment previous, and even then that was in reinforcing the true lack of information that they had been provided with. It was to be expected however. When one received a contract from the Empire, it was safe to make the bet that the compensation was well below any actual worth.

"She comes to de station, you know."

He had seen her in passing on more than a few occasions, in fact.

"I seen her, a few tiimes. Quiet, on 'er lonesome liike she got de heavy t'oughts weighin' her dowwn."

Pulling himself from memory, Curzon let his eyes meet those of his visitors once more.

"Dere's a tellin'; Jedii, Sit', Jedii. Dey sey dat's de path she walked. And all t'rough dat she holds to de Rebels," a wave of his hand as if to dismiss some silly notion, "... Alliiance, I suppose dey liike to be called dese days."

He continued.

"What you're wantin' to know 'bout her, dats a hard t'ing to answer."

The old man looked to the woman then, curious intensity in his eyes.

"Let's make de wonderin', yah? Let's wonder dat if you escaped de old Jedii Temple, den hid yorself away for a spell, would dere be any desiirin' in yor soul to leave dat hiidin' place?"

[Blacktung]

Blacktung's face darkened for the first time, as he lost himself in the words and riddles of the Hunt Master. The old man was trying to say something, and he could not navigate the maze of webs he was weaving. His mind could not comprehend that which he did not understand. After all, he could not relate to such a thing. When his world turned it's back on him, when it declared him a heretic for believing in the old instead of the new and he was branded, like an animal, and cast into space alone, but not before they ripped his name from him, he did not go into hiding. No. He held his head high and went boldly into the unknown. Never had he cowered or hid. Izax demanded better of him.

He would think a being the like of Loklorien S'Ilancy would be beyond hiding. Beyond fear.

"It sounds that she lacks resolution, straying from her ideals, back and forth, and back again." He knew very little of the Jedi and the Sith, only that one is considered Good and the other Bad. The Eternal Empire of his own world had done battle against both at the height of it's power. "Still, she managed to hide from the Empire's Hunters. She must have quite the sanctuary. A Rebel base, or perhaps a homeworld. Do you know from which planet she was birthed?"

[Alanie Herleva]

Blacktung's questions were very useful information - as if there was anything that couldn't be at this juncture - and Alanie's mindset was along the same vein. The Hunt Master ensured that they would remain on the hook and remain with him for his wisdom. Apparently he didn't get out much, she mused.

Allowing their host to reply to her Zakuulan's interest, she then posed her own. "You mentioned she visited this station often. When was she here last? How long did she stay?"

[Curzon Esrimoure]

There was a contemplative look to Curzon's features as he processed Blacktung's words.

"De body is seen, but de soul still be hidden. Dere's all sorts of hidin' dat a person can do, Son. When I seen her, de woman was like de water shells of Kamino. Wanderin' de seas wit' nottin' inside."

Silence fell over the three then, as he contemplated Alanie's own question, and reclining a small bit to the comforts of his multitudinous pillows, he let his eyes blink slowly as his gaze stayed upon her. Another blink, and he looked slowly away, to the incense bowl that still let forth a thin, lazy wisp of smoke as it slowly smoldered. His brow furrowed in the slightly dissatisfied way that many old men had mastered over long years, and reached to his side, removed the lid of an ornately carved wooden sphere. Two fingers dipped in, pulling out a small bit of loose-leaf incense, he replaced the lid and shifted forward, letting the particulate fall from his grasp to the etched incense bowl.

He paused, hovering over for a small moment to make sure that his action yielded satisfaction, and with a final nod, the old man settled himself back into his cushions.

"I would say dat it has been some months, since I last seen de woman." His answer was perhaps not entirely what was wanted, but it was what he chose to give. "She is in de military d'ough, so it is clockwork, her stays here."

[Blacktung]

"A potential strategy, and the only solid answer with no other leads to her whereabouts."

Blacktung mused to himself as he rubbed his chin and looked thoughtfully into the incense bowl; his mind lost elsewhere. He was beginning to understand the man's words earlier, and just how much the Empire had left them out in the dark. This hunt could prove impossible. There was a great challenge to be found in subduing a being as reportedly strong as Loklorien S'Ilancy, but more so the challenge of simply finding her. No. He swore, even if it took him his entire lifetime, that he would find her someday. Oceans will boil, stars will explode, and systems will grow cold, but one day he would have her; even if there is no Empire left to report to.

"Do you have any contacts in the Alliance? I have none."

He asked, turning his blue eyes on his companion.

[Alanie Herleva]

She listened to the exchange, carefully noting every mispronounced word and was able to keep a solid picture of the discussion, then glanced at her fellow hunter, shaking her head. "I don't, but getting new assets isn't that hard, if you know how," she grinned seductively and winked. Turning her gaze back to their apparent guru, "Knowing that she frequents this station on occasion is a great place to start." She was ready now, seeing as the older man only offered riddles and little else, though he had given them enough.

Taking in a deep breath, Alanie sighed, glancing to the icy blue eyed Zakuulan, "I'm ready when you are." Glancing back at Curzon, "Thanks."

[Curzon Esrimoure]

"De pleasures, dey be mine."

She had the look of a woman unused to failure, and the man too held an air of determination. To him, the two were singularly paired.

"I'll be warnin' ye, d'ough. De woman, she be of de old tiimes; one of de old sort o' Jedii. Her first masta, he was Mace Windu."

Curzon leaned forward, one elbow coming to rest on the low table that served as his desk. His eyes settled first on the woman, then on the man.

"She knows de old style dat de otter Jedii didn'a like. She fights wit' one foot in de Dark."

[Blacktung]

"Light. Dark. We are all the same in the eyes of Izax. We all go to the same place. Thank you for your counsel, Hunt Master. I will take it to heart."

It was a great annoyance to end this leg of the hunt with more questions than answers. The advice given was metaphysical in nature, and as a result held very little weight. The obstacle was finding Loklorien, not a question of her character. Those characteristics could be useful, if one had the mind for traps and schemes, but Blacktung was not the sort. He preferred an honest fight in full view of the Gods that left both combatants bloodied and exhausted. Either one leaves with their freedom or losses it.

"We know the field and the quarry, but not the when." He spoke over his shoulder as the pair left the Master of the Hunt's office and re-emerged in the corridor beyond the Guild outpost. "We are faced with two options, continue tracking the beast or lie in wait for it to return. Undoubtedly Loklorien will return to Jovan, but it could be months. I fear the Empire will not be so patient with us, or another hunter will do what we could not. What say you, Alanie?"

[Alanie Herleva]

Not necessarily understanding Blacktung's religion, Alanie knew that a Jedi that had a few dark tendencies was going to make her more interesting in many ways. She hadn't faced a Force user before, but with the right planning, anyone was approachable which meant they were equally able to be taken down. Rising, she followed her fellow hunter from the room and out into the main avenue's sidewalk and measured Blacktung's words and nodded. There would be a chance that she could return here, but he was right, there was no way of knowing when.

Casting her gaze to the passing speeders and foot traffic, the sparse security cameras and large buildings, which gave her an idea. "The datacore here should have recordings of everyone that comes and goes. Narrow down her last visit and track her to anywhere she's been. Maybe we find someone within that visit that could lead us to her," she suggested. It wasn't a foolproof plan, but it was easier than asking everyone in sight if they had seen a female Jedi. Glancing to him as they walked, "Start with the main computer at the Port Authority office and go from there," she shrugged.

[Blacktung]

"Such information would not be easily surrendered to you and I. Were this Imperial Space I would have the access we require, but alas the Alliance does not see the value of cooperation with the Guild. Do we elicit the aid of a slicer? Seduce an officer, with my tongue? Fighting our way in will get us nothing if we are detained or thrown off the station."

[Alanie Herleva]

As they walked, she grinned at him. "There are various ways, but a slicer might be the quickest," she nodded. Casting her gaze on those they passed and beyond, her issue was not knowing anyone on this station who could help in that endeavour, which meant they had to go about it the long way. Find someone. Normally the seedier bars or clubs in the "more interesting" part of town would have at least one, which also meant they would have to gain the trust of an informant or someone else in the know.

"Guessing you've never been here either?"

[Blacktung]

"Of course not. I hate space." He replied without thinking as his eyes were occupied taking in their surroundings. "This place feels cold and diseased, like some vermin dying in it's den. It is devoid. Detached. I cannot feel Scyva here. Excuse me sir!"

Mid rambling thought he reached out and stopped a man who was going the other way. He had a certain look to him that had caught Blacktung's eye; his clothes were a little shabby, his eyes a bit red, and he had a neck tattoo. Truly this was a man of the people.

"Hail and good..." A quick glance at the nearest porthole revealed not answers to the time of day but only inky darkness and stars. "Night? Where in this abominable space station would I go if I wished to procure the services of one or more men for various purposes. I believe they are called odd jobs, but I assure you that they are not odd. The opposite of odd, in fact. Regular jobs."

The man looked between the grinning man and the straight faced lady a few times before finally answering.

"I don't know nuffin' about all that, but if your lookin' for directions you should try Narssiska Vraska. You can find her at the Shatterstar Lounge. It's on the promenade concourse. Now fuck off."

"See, that wasn't so hard."

[Alanie Herleva]

Watching and listening, she became amused at Blacktung's approach and knew the drunk guy that the bounty hunter had just stopped probably was so out of it that he wouldn't remember any of this moments later. But, he was right, randomly asking someone in a roundabout way did get the preferred result. Being the type to think a few steps ahead, she had forgotten the basic things like this. It happened, she mused and nodded.

As the drunkard walked away, Alanie grinned, "I'm surprised he even knew what you were referring to. Funny." Now to find the lounge. As they began walking, she spotted another trio outside a local store and figured they would know where the lounge was. "Everyone on your world talk like you," she inquired, glancing to him momentarily as they approached the three darkly clad men. One of them vainly hiding a knife in his left boot, she noted.

[Blacktung]

"I have not met all the people of my world. I speak the same as any man." Her question was absurd, as if he was speaking some other language instead of galactic basic the same as her. He did not speak in the old tongue except when praying to the Gods. The significance of which would be lost on his companion.

"Look at the size of that one!" A finger was pointed at one of the three men that were gathered nearby, who towered over the others and was marked with stripes, large ears, and a tail. A Cizerack. "I would like to fight that one. When we have time, of course."

[Alanie Herleva]

Alanie chuckled at the sudden change in subject. "Ooh, shiny!" Shaking her head, the hope that Blacktung wasn't going to challenge himself at the least opportune moment did cross her mind now. His style was definitely foreign to her, but apparently he had made a name for himself in some circles, otherwise they wouldn't have hired him.

Finally reaching the trio, she slowed her pace and gained their attention. "Hey guys," she greeted, smiling. "Looking for the Shatterstar Lounge."

Smiling at her, they glanced to her male companion, one of them lowering his right hand toward his belt line. "Yeah, why don't you dump the old man and come with us." His eyes caressed her curves.

"Actually, he's not that old and we're not together," she countered.

"Even better," his grin melted as all three went for weapons...

[Blacktung]

"Stay your hands, my brothers. I would like very much to give you the glorious battle you desire, but I am afraid that we are otherwise disposed. See..."

Reaching into his fur trimmed coat he pulled from the depths not a weapon, but a leather wallet that had seen much better days. Letting one end fall open it revealed the telltale Bantha skull medallion that was the badge of the Bounty Hunters Guild; as shiny and glossy as the day it was minted. The trio deflated a bit, but then the head of the group stood up straighter, took a step forward, and brandished his makeshift knife.

"Doesn't mean nuffin'. You're a long way from Imperial Space, boot licker."

Blacktung eyeballed the knife. It was a silly thing. Obviously home made, which made sense considering this station was an Alliance Garrison and all arms were well regulated. His own were left behind on the Izilith. Speaking of which, a quick glance around did not reveal any Alliance officers to beg for assistance. They were out of the way, beneath a catwalk, in a dirty corridor that was likely used primarily by maintenance teams if he were to guess. No witnesses. Looking at Alanie he gave her a knowing smile before stepping forward without looking.

The attack was obvious. Shoulder to hip slice. Amateur. The guy had a knife, not a sword. His movement was exaggerated, making a show of raising the knife before bringing it down, and creating an opportunity for Blacktung to step forward and into his personal space. Now it was just a matter of grabbing his knife arm with both hands and bringing his knee up and clocking the assailant directly in the testicles.

"I apologize, brother. Dishonorable, I know, but it is better to suffer a bruised pride than to force a meaningless death."

The bastard was holding on tightly to his knife, forcing a grapple after it should have ended. The other two were coming now, with their own makeshift weapons.

"Oh shit."

[Alanie Herleva]

Alanie listened to her fellow hunter's warning and knew it fell on deaf ears as the three thugs had no interest - they were in their territory and apparently hadn't had their asses kicked in a long time. Enjoying that type of freedom garnered a certain pride, which she and Blacktung would exploit. As the first and her companion were engaged, she watched as the second and his shorter, thinner friend stepped toward her, thinking Alanie the weaker of the two. Spinning right as she grabbed the armed wrist of the nearest, the assassin continued around, yanking him along with her as her left boot then caught the other in the chest, knocking him backward and on to his butt. Bending low, she continued using her leverage and weight, body slamming the first to the hard permacrete, knocking his wind out, and keeping his knife.

Now she was armed. "That's what I love about you boys, always predictable."

And they weren't done yet...

[Narssiska Vraska]

"Huck. Saangarr. Torph. Stand down."

An elderly Gran had rounded the corner and, after watching the scuffle go on for several moments, decided it was finally time to speak up. At his words the three thugs stopped in their tracks. There was a brief moment of consideration as they looked back and forth from the Gran to the two bounty hunters, and back again.

"K'ohta'rrou Meorrrei will have your hides if she ever found out you had those knives. If I'm not mistaken, this would be your final offense, Huck. You know what that means. Expulsion. Where do you have left to go? Nowhere. You'll have to go back to Longwind, where your outstanding debts will be waiting for you."

Several words formed on the human's mouth, but no words came out before it snapped shut like a hunter's trap. The three untangled themselves from the Bounty Hunters, giving up the knives they already lost, and turned and left, but not before Huck dragged a finger across his throat while glaring daggers at all three in turn. Once the thugs were out of sight the Gran approached the Bounty Hunters.

"My name is Horan. Are you the two asking around for Narssiska Vraska?"

[Blacktung]

The scuffle was not going in his favor. The large Cizerack refused to give up the knife and it was taking all his strength to hold it in place with both his hands, which left the brute with a free hand with which attempt to pry himself free. Blows reigned down on Blacktung's body, but he refused to let go of the knife for even a moment. Finally a hand found his throat and began to squeeze. Still he held. As his vision began to cloud and his hearing faded, he was suddenly released.

Stumbling backwards he grasped at his throat, chocking on the sterilized oxygen. He coiled, ready to continue the fight, but the thugs were keeping their distance. He tried not to notice that the other two looked much worse for wear while his singular opponent was looking rather untouched, even if flustered. A voice drew his eyes to a third party; a three eyes gran with skin so old and leathery he could be mistaken for a socialite's handbag. All buckles and gaudy colors. He told the thugs off and they left, and then made some pointed questions.

"And what of it, noble sir?" He was having a difficult time hiding the annoyance in his voice. A good fight had been broken up before it's conclusion. He may never see it's like again in this life. The Gran looked too old to be a threat, but all the same he looked sideways at his companion to make sure she was ready for anything.

[Alanie Herleva]

Equally surprised at the interruption, Alanie first watched as the trio of thugs retreated and soon vanished beyond the far corner of the alley, allowing the two bounty hunters to now focus on the robed figure. Keeping the knife in her right hand, she watched and waited as the unfamiliar name rolled off their tongue. Not one that she was familiar with, then thought about it a moment as she glanced to Blacktung. "That name sound familiar to you?" Blue-green eyes turned back to the alien before them. "Cause I don't recognize it."

How had word gotten around that fast that they were looking for a rogue Force user, or anything more than a lounge? Now she was intrigued.

"And who's asking," she countered, keeping the knife in her hand loosely, knowing that those robes could be hiding nearly anything. Her senses piqued now, Alanie used her past training to also listen to the sounds of the city around them, hoping that this individual was alone.

[Narssiska Vraska]

All three eyes closed in tandem and the elderly Gran breathed deeply, holding and then letting the breath out in a loud sigh. He was getting far too old for this. Young people these days do not even listen to any of the words you speak. Instead they jump to conclusions, and violence. It's a wonder it took these two this long to start a fight, and even more so that they were not already in a cell.

"The Emerald Lady has requested an audience with you. If you still wish to meet with her I suggest you follow me."

Turning on his heel, hands clasped behind his back, Horan walked away leaving the two Bounty Hunters with a choice. It was not much of a choice, as the decision had already been made for them. Either they came and were expedited off the station, or the powers that be would do everything to make them leave. Jovan Station was a volatile environment, and two violent Bounty Hunters sticking their noses where they do not belong threatened to peel back the smiling facade that hid the seedier elements of this neighborhood.

[Blacktung]

"I would very much like this place to make sense again."

Blacktung continued to rub his red throat as he watched the old bag slowly walk away. Turning to look at his companion he shrugged his shoulders and hiked a thumb over his shoulder to point at their savior. They had hardly been on this station a few hours and already they had several chance encounters that felt far too manufactured to be natural. It did not take much for the tracker to see they were being tracked, set up, and likely walking into some kind of trap. However, they had no other lead.

"It would appear we have little choice but to stay the course. I fear we are walking into a trap. Aha! A knife! Izax smiles upon us still. It is a good start, but we will need more weapons. Come."

He began after the Gran, looking back over his shoulder as he did so to see if Alanie would also follow.