Private Violent Times

[Jogon]

Bespin, Nalotek Belt
Opal 1, Commercial District

Xeykard

Being on these platforms hundreds of thousands of kilometers in the air had Jogon considerably uneased. It didn't matter how nice they dolled these sleek promenades with shopping centers and cozy apartments. If someone flipped the wrong switch, it would only be the galaxy's most beautiful freefalling mausoleum.​

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Hooded and as nondescript as a dashade could be, Jogon slipped through the skittish crowds of the commercial district. The air of this whole place was fraught with tension. The Sith Order was coming, but what could anyone do about it?​

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It seemed the popular position was that clinging to routine would save them. Let the Sith come, roll over, play dead, and maybe it'll be fine. Maybe that would work. Tibanna was valuable, after all, but the Sith Order's position on citizen resources seemed to be in flux.​

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Staying was a gamble, but so was anything else. Speaking of which…​

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Jogon took a turn down an alley. Appropriately dark. At the end was a heavy blast door, upon which he knocked exactly three times. A slate slightly below Jogon's eye level slammed open, and the three eyes of a gran glared up at him.​

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"You got an invite, stretch?"​

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Jogon produced the small metal card he had beaten several people to death to obtain. Engraved lettering indicated an invitation to a high-stakes gambling match. The kind that took place underground on account of involving Sith artifacts. Like the Fourth Fang of Yeen. Just an example.​

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The gran stared at the card for a good while, chewing his cheek. "Wait there."​

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And the slat shut again. He could audibly hear several complicated locking mechanisms being disengaged. Jogon sighed while waiting. Would leaving be a problem?​

 

[Xeykard]

Jogon ​

There was a long hallway, a set of stairs doubling back, then a shorter hallway into a lavishly decorated gambling den hardly befitting the alleyway they'd entered through. A half-dozen shady characters were already gathered at the table, a green felt spread for the cards, contrasting the crimson of the plush seats and carpeting. Five out of six of those already seated had people standing behind them; security, though obviously disarmed, no less dangerous.

Xeykard had not gotten that particular memo, though he did not feel he was missing out on much. He was wider and taller than any of the guards, even the Gamorrean enforcer brought by the particularly green-looking Falleen sitting next to him. There was no threat here, far as he could tell. Today was not (yet) a day of violence.

Still, he was keeping himself low-profile; he wore a large shroud to conceal most of his form, and a wide-brimmed hat. His sense of fashion was poor, but matched by a Togruta on the other end of the table, whose similar wide-brimmed hat did a poor job concealing his lecherous obsession with the tongue of the Theelin in his lap.

Being recognized would be... bad for business. Not only was he among the Sith generals pioneering the Order's way to planets like Bespin, he'd also spent the past week beating several people to death in order to secure his invitation here (that had been more work than he'd anticipated; for whatever reason, he'd thrice been foiled by ongoing murder investigations into people he'd previously been prepared to beat up).

The last player arrived -- a match for Xeykard in more ways than one, a Dashade with a powerful build and an air of assured violence. No guards, either. The newcomer was guided to the last seat, next to the Inquisitor.

A Skakoan in a pressure suit he'd never seen the likes of rolled to the dealer's seat, and observed the players. It waved a hand, the modulated voice it spoke with strangely pleasant: "We will take your buy-ins now. If you have any questions about our exchange system, feel free to ask, but aside from a few particular variations, each artifact will be valued at the current ratified rate of the Nar Shaddaa Sith Exchange."

The players or their guards handed of bags and boxes; Xeykard, for his part, handed the nearest attendant a black duffel bag, which they struggled to carry to the back room where their artifacts would be safe. He glanced to his left, curious at what the Dashade had brought.

 

[Jogon]

Xeykard

Jogon hesitated at the mouth of the hallway. Not because of the musty air (although it was thick and displeasing to him) and not because of the activities of the togruta and his theelin companion (although this public display did disgust and repel him), but because of the large lizard ill-concealed by his wide-brimmed hat. Barabel maybe. There was no recognition in his eyes. ​

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If you spend enough time as the biggest reptile in the general area no matter where you went, suddenly finding the title contested was... Unwelcome. Don't know what you have until it's gone.​

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And of course the last chair was between the other lizard and a kubaz. Whatever. This wasn't getting any easier waiting around. The dashade plodded forward, seated himself, and lowered his hood. He didn't like the look of this place for fighting. Too many and too close. He'd have to play this one by the rules, or at least follow the winner out. The host asked for buy-ins, so Jogon produced the Second Fang of Yeen from within a breast pocket. Freshly requisitioned from the dead, nearly confiscated by a Jedi. ​

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It was a simple amulet: a sharp canine of black stone. Look closely and you could see the miniscule runes etched on its surface. It thrummed with the Dark Side, though not in any meaningful way. Had to acquire the other three before the magic happened. Or so Jogon heard. The attendant took it between two fingers and scurried off.​

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A few minutes before they started. Jogon breathed in deeply. He glanced to his right at the kubaz. The gambler didn't look up from his datapad, so Jogon forced himself to look at the barabel instead.​

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His eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Nice hat."​

 

[Xeykard]

Jogon
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Xeykard grunted. "It was not this one's first choice."

He eyed the Dashade. Size and violence were not the only things they had in common, so too was the unease of having those traits contested. Yet, Xeykard had spent much time as of late in the presence of the Dark Lord himself. Compared to that, the Dashade's prickling presence was not nearly as discomforting.

The Inquisitor resolved not to worry about it too much.

"You do not strike this one as a collector," he said to his neighbour. The others around them were rich; buying, selling, speculating. Xeykard did not recognize the buy-in, but it was not so flashy as a Sith amulet or weapon. He wondered if they were alike in another way. "But your item seemed... unique. Where did you get it?"