Looking for himself

[Alpha]

"Control this is Dragon Fang, coming in for approach. Requesting landing clearance."

Alpha throttles down, making sure he didn't come in to fast or too threateningly. Wouldn't be a good start to get blown out of the sky now would it? A crackle from the radio heralded the response from ground control.

"You're clear for landing pad 15. What is your cargo?"

Chuckling, alpha toggles the reciever "Myself and my ship. I'm hoping to examine your archives for information. I do need refueling and restocking of my provisions though. I have hard credits."

"Understood Fang. You will have to come through customs once you land. Enjoy your stay."

"I will. Dragon Fang out." He smiles and shuts off the radio, bringing his small ship in smoothly to the landing pad. Hitting a sequence on his control panel, he brings the wings in at landing position, and drops the landing gear. With a small jolt and a hiss of hydraulics, the ships settles nicely to the tarmac. Nodding, he unstraps and heads to the ramp. Stopping before the release latch for the ramp, alpha turns to a large locker embedded into the wall, and punches in his entry code. Soundless, the door slides open, and he looks inside, gauging his options.

I don't know what their weapons policy is, so better not bring much in and better make it something not too flashy, Alpha thinks to himself, moving his hand past a battered old lightsabre hilt to the more familiar pulse pistol and slug throwers he had taken to wearing. Strapping one to each thigh, he then takes out a dagger, sliding that into his belt. Closing the locker he just sighs. It was now or never. Maybe he'd find something of use here. Maybe he'd find someone who knew him. Either way would net him the information he was looking for.

Pressing the hatch release, Alpha pulls on the leather trenchcoat hanging nearby, and puts on the fedora-like hat over his silver hair. Stepping down, he looks to see if they sent anyone to greet him at the bottom of the ramp...

[Ezra Na'chtion]

"Your going to die..."

He had been called to this place, taking time away from his new mentor Sin to travel here and live among the clouds for a few days. Why? He still had yet to unravel that mystery, but it had been easy to get here, so he was going to take his time unraveling the mystery. He had brought his former master's journals and books with him. The writings of Baralai Lotus were interesting indeed and through them he learned much of Sith Alchemy. He hardly considered himself an alchemist just yet, but that did not detour him from trying. Someday he would unlock the secret, whether physical or mental, and then all of alchemy would be his.

But now he was here, loafing about the spaceport like a homeless child with nothing better to do, and he certainly looked the part. His loose tan clothing which, while fashionable on his homeworld of Tatooine, was hardly the casual attire on Bespin. This alone did not warrant the strange looks he got, but rather the disturbing amount of jewelery he wore. He had several piercings in both ears, as well as his left eyebrow, from which hung all manner of rings, studs, and small chains; all of which looked out of place on his smooth face framed by his dirty blond hair and tan eyes. He did not care what other's thought of him. He ignored them. The timebombs they called bodies were expire, but he would live forever through the miracles of alchemy.

And then a ship touched down nearby, breaking his concentration as he mentally recited several key passages from Baralai's journal. He looked up only when a young man stepped out, and then he uttered those words: "Your going to die..." He voice held more statement than threat.

[Alpha]

"Your going to die..."

Alpha hears it and immediately, his hand goes to his pulse pistol, jerking it free of the holster and bringing it around. He crouches a bit as well, as he looks for where the voice came from. From experience that phrase was never soemthigy ou wanted to hear when you first stepped out of your ship. Come to think of it, it generally wasn't something you watned to hear period.

Scanning the hanger, the only person he sees is a scrawny blonde with a few piercings. Could he have said that?

"Hey, blondie!" Alpha calls, looking over, "Did you just say that?"

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Ezra watched from his place atop the small cargo crate he called a seat. It was not very big, but neither was he. His feet dangled off the edge and did not even touch the ground. A weapon was drawn and trained on him, but he did not even acknowledge the weapon's existence. Rather, he just continued to stare at the young man. He did not fear civilized weaponry, for they had only the power to destroy. Alchemy, on the other hand, held much more painful ways to utterly destroy living cells from the inside out.

"We're all dying." He replied.

[Alpha]

Alpha cocks an eyebrow, and slides his pistol back into its holster, but leaving it loose enough to quickly yank out. This was a weird one. Why did he have to choose to hang out in his hanger?

"We do." Alpha replies, a small smirk on his lips. "Luckily, that day is far from now."

[Ezra Na'chtion]

He smiled, a slow forming smile, like he had somehow found something incredibly humorous about that statement. "Yes, but how can we be so sure that it is not just around the corner, waiting for us wearing a mask? Who's to say when life will end." He aid, his soft smile fading from his face.

"I could kill you with my brain."

[Alpha]

This guy is giving me the creeps... Alpha thinks, raising his chin in defiance. "Death will come for me when I let it. My life ends when I say it does, not before. And if you try to kill me with your brain as you say, I'm pretty sure a slug or an energy blast through your skull will return the favor to you quite nicely." Alpha sets a hand on each of his weapons, silently wishign he had decided to take out his lightsabre.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Ezra nodded his head. That it would, if he could even get his weapons out before he fried his brain with the force. It was his usual means of murder. Oh, he had his lightscythe kicking around here somewhere, probably back at his hotel room, but he was not much of a physical fighter. He preferred making their minds explode and force blood through every orifice of their bodies.

"Your aggression is illogically placed," He replied, still sitting calmly atop the crate. What would we be without logic?

[Jeseth Cloak]

"He won't harm you - even if he tries." interjected a stranger, taking a serious and formal tone, gazing measuringly at the Sith who sat upon the crate. The meddler was an alien with jaw-length black hair, alabaster skin and dark-crimson eyes. His garment was none other than that worn by the Jedi of old, and truly looked its age; it was tattered, faded, smeared and smudged with soot and ash. Dark stains were spattered and dry across the length of the outfit's sleeves. They carried the smell of old blood.

Jeseth had docked in Cloud City to have his ship repaired. He had been en route to Endor to rendezvous with team of researchers, when his navigational computer had begun malfunctioning. Bespin seemed a more hospitable sanctuary than Varonat (its nearest neighbor), which was a jungle planet overrun by pirates and smugglers. Now, as he awaited completion of his ship's repairs, he found he had nothing better to do than entangle himself in the conflicts of others. It was an old habit that the fallen Jedi, now nearly 73 years of age, just couldn't break.

At his belt was clipped a black and silver lightsaber, which - if pushed - he would not hesitate to use.

[Alpha]

Alpha spins to face the newcomer, his pistol reapearing in his hand as if by magic. He quickly drops the his aim, letting his hand fall to his side once he sees the lightsabre clipped to Jesseth's belt. something in him screamed not to aim a gun at a sabre carrier. This was quickly spiraling out of control. Now there were two people here who he did not trust in the least. One, Alpha thinks, wants to kill him, and then a newcomer that he had no idea what would do.

"And who are you?" Alpha asks, his silver eyes flashing in the light as he spits the newcomer with a glare half born of annoyance and half of fear.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Ezra, on the other hand, just kicked his legs a few times and then let them flop around as his boots bounced off the crate several times until they lost their momentum and came to a stop. He could not feint childish antics all the times. While hardly even a teenager, he was so short and baby faced that he looked more like he was twelve, not fifteen. Sometimes he would play on his appearance. Who me? I'm just a kid. I couldn't be the one whispering words into your mind and driving you to suicide. People who tried to bring harm to him found they he was not just a defenseless child.

But now things were getting interesting. Logic dictated that blasters against the visible lightsabre would not end with positive results, for the gunslinger that is. So, the odds were definitely in the sabre wielder's favor. But the uncertainty factor made it impossible to guess the results of the possible fight between the two. He knew nothing about the two men beyond their first choice of weaponry. But everyone had hidden talents, or hidden weapons. And yet he loved to muse over who the victor would be. He loved to calculate, to make logical guesses on anything that presented a challenge. He did not care about being right, but just in the challenge of placing a logical guess. Just for the experience.

Ezra turned to look at the newcomer in the archaic robes, who looked like a monk of some forgotten order, save for his appearance, which appeared more demonic than most monasteries allow. Which, therefore, made the man a bit of a conundrum. Rather then verbally dismiss what the man said, about him not harming the other man, he simply turned on his childishness and put on his "Who me? I'm just a kid..." look.

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth narrowed his eyes at the younglings response. There was something very unsettling about the boy, and how he spoke of life and death so casually. It wasn't at all typical behavior for a child of nearly any race. Jeseth, himself a non-Human, knew that appearances could be quite deceiving, too. Tempted as he was to excuse the antics for childishness, something told him that it would be a grave mistake.

The gunslinger asked Jeseth who he was. "Just a stranger." he replied, taking a few steps closer to them. "I couldn't help but overhear your exchange, and thought it would be such a shame if either of your lives were spoiled over so trivial a misunderstanding." He tucked his lightsaber back into the folds of his robe, and for an instance, anyone paying minding the quick motion was able to see that the weapon came to rest besides another, identical lightsaber. "You can call me Jeseth." he added, and then raised a single hand towards his face, brushing back a few strands of his dark hair.

"Forgive me if I've caused either of you any alarm with my impolite intrusion. Your names are?" he inquired, eyes scanning their surroundings. He kept his eyes on the strange child, half out of caution, and half out of curiosity. If the youngling was capable of killing with a thought as he'd threatened, then Jeseth knew there would be great value in maintaining a readiness.

Deadly Sight was a very real and dangerous ability - although many argued that it was more a gift than anything - and although Jeseth had never been able to utilize the technique to its fullest, he was very aware of its full potential. The thought that a Human adolescent might be in possession of such knowledge was extremely disturbing.

[Alpha]

"Alpha," he says, his eyes on the young one. That kid was really creepy. "Welcome to the party, Jesseth." Alpha was now severely worried. He had seen the lightsabres Jesseth possessed, and could tell that he was wary of the kid. He tenses the muscles in his legs, ready to spring up his ramp and grab some of his heavier weapons if needed.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

Now they were getting on name basis with each other. How peculiar. One moment egos were flared and weapons drawn, and now everyone wanted to be chums. Why? What was the point of exchanging names with strangers unless there was something of value in it. It agrivated him greatly. He never even got on name basis with people if he could help it. Sin was about the only person this side of the galaxy that knew his name. Everyone else that had ever known him was locked away on Corellia, hiding from those alien assassins that had so easily toppled the Sith Order. His name was irrelevant, without value. There had to be a secret motive. No one ever asked a stranger for his name for no reason at all. That would be a betrayal of human nature. Logic dictated it as impossible.

Jeseth. Alpha. Names were committed to memory for future reference. This Jeseth fellow could prove to be something Sin might be interested in. The sub-human did have a thing about force adepts and getting them under his thumb. Information is like currency. It can be earned, gathered, transported, exchanged, and stolen, and he had a wealth of it. Perhaps that was what interested his companion, all the information he had locked away in his young mind.

"What is the value you place in knowing my name?" He asked, slipping off the crate, his jewelry jingling wildly. "I am a stranger, a nobody. Not a person of physical interest or value. What is it you think you will gain? I have no money, no items of value, nothing but the clothes on my back. The ultimate question: why?" The childish cover was blown. No normal child could use such complex words or string them together so fluidly.

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth smiled in satisfaction. He had been right; there was more to the youngling than met the eye. He shrugged casually at the accusatory questions. "There's no value in a name - not in a galaxy inhabited by so many sentient beings... but it would be rather impolite of me to address you merely as, 'child.'" he replied.

"Alpha," Jeseth said, "I saw your eyes light up at the sight of my lightsabers. I'm inclined to think that you've seen one before." He knew that few people had ever crossed paths with an individual capable of wielding the archaic and elegant weapons.

[Alpha]

Alpha's eyes narrow in distrust. He had just come in from the Unknown Regions. He had no idea who he could trust. for that matter, he had no idea who he was himself, so that was two big problems that got in the way of opening up to anyone.

"I...may have come into possession of one. What's it to you?"

[Ezra Na'chtion]

He countered logic with logic. A battle of mental blades, each attacking, and parrying in turn. Now they stood at an impasse, the other's logic being defeated and defeating the other at the same time. They could both hold on to their logic and in the end they would neither gain nor lose. While he liked to speculate, Ezra hated a stalemate far more then a defeat.

"Ezra," He said, quite flatly. And then he went back to his crate, but did not sit down. Instead he circled behind it, placing it between him and the others. The crate only came up to his waist, and so he was able to lean against it with his hip, his sandy eyes watching the two, who seemed vastly more interested in each other than was healthy. Especially when the amount of weapons were factored into the equation.

[Jeseth Cloak]

"I...may have come into possession of one. What's it to you?" Alpha had asked the fallen Jedi.

Jeseth's demeanor changed slightly. "I was a Jedi once." he replied. "It's always of interest to me if - and how - someone comes to be in possession of such a weapon." One of his pale hands came up to his chin as he considered some of the things he had already discovered about the two men. Some of his curiosity was yet unsatisfied, and he was sure that there was more to both of them than they were letting on.

"Ezra, Alpha, I'm interested in making a wager with the two of you." he said, a thoughtful smile upon his face. "I have a coin in my pocket. On one side is etched the Imperial emblem; on the other side is etched the visage of the former Emperor, Palpatine. Each of you would pick a side, and then I'd flip the coin." he stated, drawing a coin from his pocket. "Win, and I'll give you an artifact in that is both powerful and valuable, for you to use in anyway you see fit."

"Lose," Jeseth went on to say, "and I take your life." His tone didn't indicate that his words had been uttered in jest. His other hand reached in its corresponding pocket, and drew out a triangular trinket. Strange symbols were etched upon all of its faces. It was a Sith holocron - one that he had already studied in great detail during his years of exile. Such a relic could easily fetch thousands of credits, and could also bestow volumes of forbidden knowledge upon its user.

"Interested?" he asked them.

[Alpha]

Alpha raises an eyebrow. "A Jedi?" he asks, mostly to himself. His attention is drawn back to Jesseth as he places his little wager. A dark feeling creeps into his veins, the hair on the back of his neck raising in tandem. "Yes. Though I have to ask why you'd be willing to give something up to people you just met. And, you must give me a second..."

Alpha quickly springs up the ramp to his ship, opening the panel to his weapons cache. He pulls the lightsabre out and clips it inside his jacket. Following that was a longsword which attached to his belt, and onto his arm was a small eectro-mag dart launcher with extra darts going into pouches on his belt. Pulling a rail gun out last, he jams a magazine home, and slings it over his shoulder. Quickly stepping out of the ship, and to the end of the ramp, he quirks an eyebrow at Jesseth.

"We both know my little pulse pistol wouldn't do much to a trained Jedi. the slugthrower might be a different story, but...better safe than sorry." He gives an odd half smile, and looks at Ezra. "You in shorty?"

[Ezra Na'chtion]

What an... interesting proposition. The prize sounded incredible, but the scales were not even. To take death the prize must be life. This was not a square deal, as they say. A priceless artifact, or death. Incredibly unfair. One could go their entire lives without the artifact, but not without their lives. But since when was life fair? The lack of fairness in the galaxy had been a shock to Ezra at first, but he had quickly recovered and learned that it was exactly the opposite of what his parents had always told him. Adding that to the equation made the deal more than acceptable, even if unfair.

The blonde imbecile called him Shorty. He would repay that insult in due time. He made a mental note, and his notes were never forgotten or carelessly thrown away. The blonde also had an unhealthy amount of weaponry on his person now. Enough to seemingly arm a small militia. It seemed a bit much. Too much. If this Jeseth fellow was bargaining your life, that meant he knew he could take it. No amount of weaponry was going to save you. Ezra didn't even think about the light-scythe hidden away in his hotel room. It wouldn't help him anyways.

"Tails."

Because everyone always chooses heads.