Public A Day In The Life (A Vignette Thread) - Open To All!

[Moonveil Incorporated]

(Star Wars Ambience, "Shadow Town, Nar Shaddaa")

In times of sorrow & suffering, you’d learn who your real friends were.

They were the ones who didn’t leave you lying in a slowly-spreading pool of vomit & blood in a filthy alley behind some nameless, scum-sucking, trash heap of a bar with a broken bottle jammed in your guts and a splitting headache.

When he’d left the dive bar, he did so with a newfound friend & a belly-full of Lum; singing a drinking song & stumbling into the filthy alleyway without a care. He’d just gotten paid, had a good meal, and decided to continue the party elsewhere…

Then, the trouble had started.

Varge’s head swam as he coughed - milky white spittle tinged with blood drooling down his chin as his massive heart hammered in his chest. He figured it was the booze that was keeping the pain at bay… but, if it wasn’t, and that warm feeling crawling up his spine wasn’t his body drifting into the long dark, then he figured he had enough time & energy to pull himself out of his stupor and find his way to the closest street-doc.

Past the two bodies lying motionless a few feet away.

In the opposite direction of where his “new friend” had made a run with his newly-acquired credits.

To the mouth of the alley, and into the dirty street; where the hum of voices & “civilized” society continued undisturbed.

Civilized. That was a joke.

Varge grunted, the laugh catching in his throat as a sudden spasm of pain struck him. If it hadn’t been for the big Gammorean’s thick skull, he might have been knocked unconscious when the ambush began - the first bottle had shattered into a million shards as it hammered down upon his head, and the second managed to strike the bony ridge of his eyebrow; disintegrating like the first, but doing little damage.

He’d killed one of them with his bare hands before they could bring him to his knees…

But he wasn’t a fething Jedi. He couldn’t withstand blaster bolts at close range, or a sliver of glass buried deep.

The hulking creature grunted, feeling his eyelids growing heavy.

Maybe just a brief nap… to catch his second wind.

Then, he’d find a doctor.

That was as good a plan as any.

Those choosing to live motivated by justice, peace, respect, and compassion lead such a predictable existence; driven to succeed in rigid structures of Law & Order, conforming to Society’s demands lest they be cast aside or excised like a cancerous growth.

By contrast, the life of a gangster is often (as the saying goes) “violent, brutish, & short”; an existence of perpetual fear & paranoia broken by occasional moments of joy. It is a roller-coaster of excitement - it’s dips & wild turns hidden behind a veil of normalcy. Highs & lows are fleeting; advancing, passing, and disappearing in a cosmic dance too great to define.

Still, others may toe the line; embarking on brief adventures out of the realm of “simple life” into the romantic shadows. The life of a spy, living on the razor’s edge; a Cop, drawn into the darkness in pursuit of (or pursued by) their own personal demons; business-owners seeking to better their lives by looking “the other way”...

The Galaxy is a big place, and these shady characters make up a vast majority of its inhabitants.

Whoever you are & whatever side of the tracks you come from, these are your stories.

Welcome to A Day in The Life.

OOC Information

The Rules are simple:

In a single post, describe a scene either connected to your character or a random NPC somewhere in the wide open Galaxy. The post can be as long & descriptive as you like, and may even follow a plot-line begun by someone else! (If you do so, please check with whomever you’re following that your idea is acceptable!)

However, as this is intended to be a series of brief one-shot stories, it is recommended that you not post to the same plotline or NPC more than once!

Show all of Chaos what you’ve got. The best story might even earn a prize! ​

 

[Hacks]

Refugee Sector,
Nar Shaddaa

The green glow of a dozen monitors splashed across Hacks' face, her plastic eyes tracing along the lines of code across her screens as twenty fingers beat out a furious rhythm on her keypad. Her concentration was severed by the sudden burst of light from her datapad that had been left on silent. Someone was trying to call her. A metal thumb declined the call as she pushed off from the table, stepping onto her feet and moving towards her kitchen.

Her apartment was cramped and dilapidated. Paint peeled off the walls, a fluorescent light flickered from a broken socket above. Ceramic cracks were heard as heavy mechanical legs strode across the tiled floor. She wondered if the tiles would have been cold on her feet once upon a time. She glanced down to metal toes that felt nothing, a hollow pang choked her throat.

A part of her missed something so simple as sensation; the warmth of another's hand in her own, the brushing of lips on lips. Her body had been carved up by her own doing, an addiction that was slowly destroying her life. She was a mod-junkie. No cybernetic implant was too extreme, and she had suffered for it. Cardiac arrest under the knife more times than she liked to count. Her humanity was a shadow of its former self, entombed in metal and wires.

What had this brought her? Greed and anger that tore through every relationship she had known, tunnel vision on the next paycheck to afford the latest chrome. She had shoved friends under the bus to put herself ahead, and she would do it again. She may have become a walking supercomputer, no network was beyond her reach, but she would die lonely and miserable for it, and no one would mourn her passing.

She opened the fridge, took out a bottle of beer and returned to her desk. As she took measured sips from the bottle she contemplated not for the first time if tonight was the night she ended it all.

No, I need to finish this program. She began to type once more.

 

[Cyran Vaas]

Zeltronian Blues
Location: In Orbit over Lothal

Cyran was pushing the physical limits of his body. Since leaving his homeworld intoxication had become a rather unfamiliar sensation. Given his alien biology it could take a considerable effort to get drunk elsewhere in the galaxy. The bounty hunting wasn’t in the best mood, a big contrast to his rather optimistic attitude. Living a life time of near constant positivity could make it hard to cope when negativity reared its ugly head. And now the pink man turned to cracking open one “cold one” after the other.

He was filled with tremendous guilt, his apprentice, a novice bounty hunter and someone he was supposed to look after was badly hurt recently, and it was from training. It was supposed to be safe, Cyran was supposed to look after Takumi. Now they’d almost died and Cyran felt wholly responsible. Getting up from his seat on his ship, the zeltron crushed his now empty can in his hands and tossed it away onto a sizable pile in the corner of the room. Stumbling over to his kitchen for more he had to grab himself on a counter to keep himself from falling over.

-“If you keep it up you’re probably gonna lose that second liver of yours”- Whistled his astromech companion as they rolled into the room. Concerned for Cyran’s well being and desiring him to stop.

“Shut it!, Y-you saw how he looked. It was… my fault” After yelling at his droid he looked back to his fridge and began to make his way for more booze before his body suddenly tensed up and spazzed before collapsing on the floor, knocked out. R4-P4 had rolled up from behind and shocked Cyran, physically stopping him from continuing. Now entering the room three of his pit droids came to help P4 get Cyran. Lifting up his limp body and hoisting him into his bed. His droids made sure to tuck him in comfortably. Where Cyran continued to lay in a deep slumber throughout the night. Where he could be thankful tomorrow for his droid’s intervention.

 

[Dominik Borra]

I had had rude awakenings before. A monster dog in my bed trying to eat me, that was scary. I had been slapped awake by a fellow agent of mine years ago, when I had blacked out from the pain of a wound, and we needed to keep moving. I had been woken up with a lightsaber in my face as I was strapped down to a table. That was actually where I lost my left arm and right eye. I had gotten cybernetic replacements, but I still got a little twitchy seeing a saber. So I've had bad times waking up. But the cold rigid steel of a blaster beating me across the face ranked pretty high.

I blinked my eyes open to find myself in an ancient wooden chair, tied to it by chains of all things. The man who had swung my own blaster across my face, trust me I knew it just by how it felt, was six feet, maybe six feet two, with short blond hair and a face like a hatchet, only less kind. He had hands like shovels and shoulders like a gamorrean's gut, cut clean and rippling with muscle. A light, the only one in the room, stabbed me in the eyes as it illuminated me.

"So," The blonde man said. "About paying a tribute to your boss. How bout I send her your head? I think she'd like that." he nodded to himself, slowly walking around me. I couldn't help but laugh a full, rich belly laugh. I tasted blood, my lip or maybe my gums had been torn. "What's so funny, huh?!" The blonde man raised his voice.

"Really?" I asked between the laughter. "You hit me with a stun blast, then you ask me if you want to send my head back?" I shook my head. "No, you haven't done anything more than tie me up and intimidate me because you know what will happen if you kill me. You know she'd take a single shot from an orbiting starship and take you all out." Ivory didn't have a starship waiting in the sky, but these bantha dung piles didn't know that. "Or she'd just send her Monster in here. She's always looking for ways for him to sate himself. You must have heard what he did to the Zero Gang on Denon?"

The blond man looked at someone I couldn't see. "See," I continued, "He tore their throats out with his teeth. A real crazy bastard if you ask me. But really, you got three options."

The blond man looked back at me, scoffing. but I knew he was holding up an act, there was an portion of tension and wariness in his body. "Oh yeah? And what are those three options, tough guy?"

"You let me go and pay The Donna her tribute, and you get to continue to operate on the fringes of her territory. That's the first option." I spat out some blood that pooled in my mouth. On the ground, not him. "Second option is you kill me, and you all die as a result." The blond man threw his fist into my stomach. He hit like a truck, and the chair creaked from the impact, even absorbed through my body. I grunted and coughed in pain. It took me a minute or so to get my breath back. I heard the chuckles of maybe a dozen men, all standing in the darkness. "The third," I choked out and gasped for air before continuing, "Is I get my workout in for the day, and I take the tribute." There was a lot of blood in my mouth, but I was focused on breathing. I felt as if I took the time to spit the blood and not breathe I'd pass out.

The blond hatchet man responded by snarling and put the barrel of my blaster against my forehead. The man was doing the smart thing, I could tell from his body posture. The way his face tightened, his forearm flexed, his grip tightening on the handle. He was about to shoot me dead, no talk and no preamble. As bad as wakeups had gone, I hadn't been in much worse situations than a man with a gun and was smart about using it.

I had timed it just right, jerking my head out of the way as the blaster bolt soared past me, singing the tiny hairs on the skin of my cheek. I spat the blood in my mouth at his face, leaned forward and pinned the blaster between my head and shoulder. The blaster's steel cut into my skin I held on so hard, and I shoved back hard with my legs. The idiot didn't let go of the gun.

I fell backwards and hit the cold concrete floor. He fell more or less ontop of me, but the old battered and weathered chair couldn't take the force of slamming into the ground and both men falling on it. It shattered, and the chains holding my arms down loosened. The blaster fell from his grip as we landed, scattering a few feet above my head. The chains were loose, but I pulled my arm and hand out so fast I lost some skin on the way up. I jabbed him in the throat, causing him to choke and sputter. With my left robotic hand I had no trouble pulling free from the chains and reached for the blaster. But I didn't shoot the man. His friends undoubtedly had weapons, and as soon as their friend got clear, or died, they would open fire on me.

I aimed for the single light in the room, and blew it to sparks and shards of hot glass. With the light of the blaster bolt soaring up, even with as quick as it was, I saw the dim shadowy forms of the men. There was the lowest part of the room that I was laying down on, and as the room moved away from me there were higher levels and stairs. Maybe this had once housed computer terminals and the wall behind me, now above my head, might have displayed some large screen or projection. Now it was barren, except for me and dead men.

The blond man slugged me in the darkness, he was still ontop of me. I grunted, but I had been hit in the head more times than I could count. And it wasn't a factor of my ability to count to high numbers being impacted by the amount of times I had been hit in the head. Both my hands were free, and my legs. I pushed off hard with my right leg, rolling us both over. He hadn't gotten a stable position yet, and once I was on top my metal arm crushed his nose down into his skull, and my bone arm crushed his trachea. With those injuries he'd drown in his own blood in a minute or two. The chains around me fell around my feet and I stepped out of them.

I assume that none of the men had opened fired because they weren't sure who's bones cracking and muffled chokings they heard, mine or their friend's. Him being here was just about my only cover, that and the darkness. But all that was blown to hell when some wise guy turned the rest of the rooms lights on. They saw me standing there, blaster in my hands, their friend choking on his own broken throat and blood all over his face. They didn't take too kindly to that.

I had been in a lot of rooms with lots of guns. I have had countless blasters fired at me. But being surrounded, freshly lit, without cover and any reason for them not to shoot me dead was pretty much a death sentence. It was a good thing that my eyes had more or less adjusted to the bright light centered on me. None of these men's eyes did. It only bought me a second, maybe two, but it was enough. My robotic eye doesn't just let me see, it does math like a supercomputer, giving me results based on my desires. It also hooked up to my arm. I'm an excellent marksmen, but having a computer guided aiming system wasn't bad to have. Especially when you only had a second headstart on a dozen men with guns.

Apostasy
​

I dodged right, my left arm snapping up with the blaster to aim for a man on my left with a rifle. The eye's computer calculated trajectories, timing and movement. That coupled with my own decades of experience landed my first shot into the man's head. I rolled on the ground, blaster bolts firing all around me as I closed on the man on my right. My left arm jabbed forward, the hard steel of the blaster's barrel cracking bones in his hand, stopping him from moving his trigger finger. My right hand grabbed the barrel of his rifle, and twisted my body. As he fought to keep hold of his weapon he twisted with me and turned into my shield. Blaster bolts from ten of his friends cooked his back, and he released his grip on the rifle as he died. My left arm poked out from under his armpit and began moving down the line like a machine, putting one or two rounds in each gangster before moving on to the next one.

I got four down before one man ran up and pulled my shield, his dead comrade, down and shoved his blaster in my face. My left arm moved and wrapped around his arm, crushing it like a vice and twisting awkwardly. His elbow bent the wrong way, and again I moved my face out of the way of the blaster bolt just in time. He was retreating as I raised his dead friends rifle in my right hand and shot him, falling backwards onto his back. My cover was gone.

Five men left in the room, and I let the computer and my instincts take over. Seeing the way they handled their guns, their stances, the rate that they fired, their discipline in handling such weapons effectively and the direction the barrels were pointed, I calculated and found where the bolts they fired were going to travel. I moved, twisted, knelt and then stood, firing the whole time. It wasn't orthodox, it wasn't the precise stances of a soldier. It was the quick movements of someone who knew where every bolt would land, and got out of their way. But for all that math, it didn't reflect reality completely. It was percentages, chances, and even with my eye's computer working faster than my own perception, my reaction time had to be fast enough to move out of a blaster's trajectory after it left the barrel at a point I had not predicted. Those things travel fast, and it only had to travel ten feet, three inches and seven point four millimeters. I wasn't fast enough.

A blaster bolt struck my leg and I felt fire race up my nerves and drive me to my knees. I was able to dodge the next shot, but not the third as it hit my right shoulder, freezing my arm in pain. My left arm flew up and shot the last man, though the bolt hit him in the hip. Three more rapid shots had him on the ground.

And then it was just me and dead men again. I groaned in pain as I knelt on the floor, feeling my skin and flesh burning from the heat of the blasts. But I had to get out. This was a small gang, but they had more than twelve men. Though it made my vision go mostly red, I stood and began moving. My right arm wasn't responsive, karkbag must have hit a nerve. I spat out more blood and took the cuff of my sleeve in my teeth, holding my arm close to my body. My shot leg wanted to buckle but I pushed it to go up one stair after another. Footsteps came running up to the door I headed for. It opened.

Some Togruta kid, maybe mid teens, shouted as she walked through. "You guys ok- HOLY SH-" I wasn't going to shoot a kid, especially not a girl. I rammed my body against her, and she wasn't ready for it. She fell back into the wall and crumpled to the floor, crying in sudden shock and pain. Sad for her, but she'd shoot me if I gave her the chance. I had to keep moving. I shut the door behind me using the barrel of my gun to push a button, then shot the panel to lock it closed. I had entered what must have been this gang's living room, complete with a powered fire stove in the middle of the room of this abandoned building, chairs surrounding it and makeshift counters made from debris, leftover construction equipment, and some actual counter tops.

Eight more men came out of doorways, guns at the ready. My arm raised and quick as a bantha whip I cracked shots and got five of them before the remaining three opened fire. I groaned in pain before leaping, or rather directed my fall, behind a counter. From this angle as he came around I shot a man's leg out from under him before shooting him in the head. The other two opened fire on the counter, wood splinters flying and getting lit on fire from the heat of the blasts. I looked up behind me, at the light from the blast bolts reflected on the walls and ceiling. Using the inverse square law for dissipating light and blaster fire light blooms, I located roughly where one of them was standing. The other was moving around to get a good shot at me. I thought about it for a moment more, then my left arm poked around the corner, blaster upside down, and fire twice. The stationary man cried in pain and crumpled to the floor. I moved around the corner of the counter as his friend came withing view, blaster bolts already soaring my way. I felt my clothes burn along my back.

The man cursed and called his friends names, who didn't respond. I moved, more limped really, as quietly as I could to the middle of the counter, breathing hard through my nose as I still held my right arm up with my teeth. With a pained groan that threatened to make me blackout, I shot to my feet, catching the man as he advanced towards the end of the counter, crouched slightly. I put two in his back just as he was whipping around. His blaster fired and it hit me square in the chest. I screamed in pain, muffled by my shirt sleeve, and fell down on my back. I hadn't worn my armored business wear, hadn't gotten any yet. But I did have a simple flexible plate over my torso that did it's best to disperse energy weapons. It may have stopped it from killing me, but it still burned hot and the impact still registered.

I looked around. The place was quiet aside from the teenage girl's traumatized cryings and banging on the door. Hard times and fear make you enter a gang like this, and these people were her friends and family. I had just gunned them all down. I layed there, breathing heavy for a minute or so before groaning in more pain and got to my feet. Well I got to one knee. Then after some more heavy breathing I got on my other knee. Then a foot, and then another. Then I could start walking.

I found an office room of some sorts. No one was inside. I didn't know where the boss was, or if in the speed of combat I had killed him. There was a briefcase on his desk. A quick peak inside showed credits. A lot of them. I grabbed some handcuffs on the desk, they looked CSF issue, and cuffed the briefcase to my limp right wrist. My arm had started working again slightly, just a little to tense the muscles.

The counter that I had hid behind was in up in flames now, and I left it to burn the rest of the place that wasn't concrete and durasteel. Ivory had better be happy with me. One annoying gang down, one tribute paid, and all I needed was new clothes and a bacta bath.

Just another day.

 

[Ragos Terrek]

The three of them piled into a speeder. It was an ancient machine. It had to be twice as old as the twenty years he'd been alive, at least. Whatever color the paint had been was chipped away so that the only color in the speeder that wasn't grey was where it was rusted. Inside the seat's were lined with cracked and peeling vinyl. Annoyingly sharp crests of the seat lining jutted out randomly, making sitting down a hazard on its own.

"Man, you know what you doin?" A voice asked in the passenger seat when the speeder started making a gods awful whining noise. "That chit don't sound right." The voice said again. The speaker was a young Korunai man of twenty or twenty-one years.

"Chill sucka." A voice from the driver's side answered with a thick Korunai accent and suddenly the speeder sprang to life. "Hot damn!" The man with the accent cheered and they took off.

Ragos Terrek was sat in the back seat of the rundown speeder. A young dark skin Korunai man of twenty or so years just like the two men who occupied the front of the vehicle. The passenger went by Jon but his full name was Dejonte. Ragos had met him a little over two years ago as he had looked for the right table to take his meal in the mess hall of the prison that was his home for nearly eight-hundred days. Jon had welcomed him and looked out for him as they did their bids together. Jon had been released three months ahead of Ragos, had no reason to give two chits about him any more but the day Ragos was released, this day, he'd had no family to pick him up and take him home. He had Jon.

The Driver Tokogie was different, man. Dude had lived on Haruun Kal for most of his life and so his accent was thick and his attitude was chit but that didn't have anything to do with Haruun Kal and everything to do with Nar Shaddaa. Like Jon and Ragos, Toke lived in a rough part of a rough planet but unlike Jon he had never met Ragos until today and he had made it very clear he did not trust the newcomer.

Toke's trust didn't matter. They was given a job. They was given a job by the head man himself, the fething general of the killer korunai, the gang around this part of Nar Shaddaa. They ran everything. Gambling, beatings, jackings, prostitution but most profitable was the spice game. Someone was stepping into two-K territory and that chit wouldn't fly. Jon and Toke were already in the gang but this job was Ragos way in and he had jumped at the chance to show he was down.

As they drove Ragos looked through the viewport at a neighborhood he hadn't seen in over two years but the memories were still fresh. He saw a two family duplex with peeling dark green paint and remembered the house party where he met Keela, the thought of her soft brown eyes made him smile on the inside. There was carbon scoring on the home that hadn't been there the last time he had seen it. Most sentients thought Nar Shaddaa was one big cesspool, a single ball of grime and slime and crime. That chit was true in some ways but the truth was that Nar Shaddaa worked like any other urbanized planet; the closer you were to the sun the better off you were and if you seen how those in the surface of Nar Shaddaa lived you could only imagine what life was like in the underlevels.

Like Coruscant or Taris, Nar Shaddaa was broken up into levels and frequently each level was broken up into wards and the wards were collected by gangsters from all corners of the galaxy. The killer korunai and Ragos operated in the Dakov district. A ward that was almost exclusively Korunai immigrants and refugees who fled the reignition of the summer time war. Project housing, liquor stores and suffering were abundant in Dakov.

they passed the bocaball court where on a very good day he karked around and got a triple-double.

"There he is." Tokogie says suddenly.

"Where?" Dejonte asks dreads swinging as his head moves back and forth scanning out the speeder's view port.

"There sucka! In de blue jacket wif de hat." Tokogie indicates with his head the direction to look. Outside of a convenience store there was a group of maybe five Koruni men standing together smoking and sipping on drinks concealed by paper bags. They all had some kind of blue garment on but there was only one in a blue jacket and white stocking cap.

"Roll up on that sucka!" Dejonte shouts

"I can't fool. This karkin traffic is movin to karkin slow an if he sees the speeder he gone run." Toke laments

"Kriff man. This our chance. We gotta move on this chit, now." Dejonte says with a nervous edge in his voice

"Yo. Gimme that chit." He says from the back of the speeder, his hand stretched up between the two front seats expectantly. The two men in front know exactly what chit Ragos is talking about

"Kark no." Toke says automatically

"What'chu thinking?" 'Jonte asks hopeful for a solution

"Don't matta what he thinkin', I ain't givin' him chit."

Ragos ignored Tokogie.

"You said he would spook at the speeder, right? That means he knows ya'll two. He don't know me." he let the rest of the plan go unsaid as he paused for just a second before saying "Gimme the chit."

"Kark." Toke said clearly unhappy but still...he gave him the chit.

The holdout pistol was heavy in his hand but felt...natural. Ragos made his way over to the target, barely hiding his weapon, stopping every so often to feign interest in a stand or act like he was checking his datapad. Finally he was there, definitely in range but he could not kark this chit up so he ran up on the group, literally ran. He was so close now he could see the frays in the man's blue jacket. He lifted his arm and shouted "2K all day!" and pulled the trigger. What happened next would stay with him for the rest of his life, he knew it. It wouldn't matter how old he grew, what else he would do in the remaining years he had, this would be the moment that lasted. This is where he was born. Baptized into an existence that would never look the same as it had before.

His finger tensed around the trigger and the end of the barrel flashed red, igniting the air around it with a woosh and a clap that to him was louder than thunder as the superheated plasma traveled faster than his eye could see. One instant he was looking at the face of a stranger and the next he was looking through the face of that stranger as a perfectly circular hole seemed to just appear as if from nowhere. He felt the literally boiling blood of the dead man dot his face and smelled the cooking flesh of the cauterizing wound. He knew people were screaming but all he could hear was the crackling of the corpse's skin.

Time seemed to stop. No, not that. It wasn't that time had froze, no it was more like he had a sudden awareness of all the specific things that would live with him from this day on.

He fired two more blind shots hoping to stall the dead man's friends as he turned and ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry, not even sure where he was going, barely aware that he was running but he finally made it back to the speeder and they took off back to safe ground.

 

[Niki Priddy]

The comforts of home.

Whatever that afforded a person in both the public light as a businesswoman and that of the shadows as someone to not cross.

The five stations in orbit around Emberlene as though they had always been present rather than a bargain struck between one souk adrift and those that knew well where their feet had been planted. A small mercy given by the Mistryl Shadow Guard and Emberlene's government in equal measure.

A home for someone with little purpose casting a line to whomever might have caught it as the small ship docked inside the gaping maw of a place she had been away from for what felt as though ages now.

She had watched the other four swing wide in their careful geosynchronous dance as she came home once more.

The central of the five stations well guarded from those that might have seen the stations as little more than flotsam amidst the vast expanse of the cold void.

Her own little world away from everyone and everything. Permission only granted to a seldom few that had only visited to check in or request work.

Aside from those few visits, all had been quiet. Peaceful even. Perhaps a smidge lonely at times. But that was a price one paid for security.

Privacy.

Her steps rang along the metallic corridors, signaling her arrival to her private castle in the sky. To the secretive workshop of wonders she kept. Within the halls were mania and genius met in equal measure to produce both fantastic and terrible things.

The weight of obligations and requirements shed themselves as she walked deeper within. The first time in a long while now that she had not been on the other end of a deal, or a fight of some variety to merely exist.

A moment to let down the facade of being put together. Of knowing what one was doing at all times. Of feeling as though the tenuous grip of control was actually within one's grasp in the confines of what was their own domain.

Her own little personal kingdom as it were where nothing happened unexpectedly without her behest.

The low ponytail was the first thing to be discarded behind the thick veil of secrecy that took the form of an airtight blast door behind her. Followed closely by the slow shedding of layers that had become a second skin against the unknown of the galaxy. A stop gap for comfort and safety when traveling outside of her almost forgotten domicile.

Outside which always felt as though something was pressing down. Not just responsibilities, not just obligations. But a weight of the unknown. Of worrying what might be around that corner. Of what might be lurking in the shadows. What might have been watching without her knowing.

The prickling between her shoulder blades reminded her to lay down the worries; mentally lay down the armor that she had finished draping across the back of her living room chair. The long black jacket nearly lost against the dim twilight of her preferred setting.

The faint blue hue of her work area beckoned her forward. Into the comfort of numbers and blueprints. Back to the beginning of her career as an engineer and designer with hopes of making items of safety for the masses.

Now turned war profiteer.

It hadn't been what her parents had thought would be in her future when she had set off from her homeworld. Atoa as a whole enjoyed the relative peace of residing within the sphere of Silver space. Almost secluded from the raging wars between the groups of Imps, Empires, and villains of the hour.

Then again her parents had sent worried, anxiety filled holo-mail about her continued presence among a group that the galactic community had largely labeled as a terror group.

But that was exhaust under the hull now.

Slender fingers traced her face, checking for any small nicks or other abnormalities before trailing across her whole being. While she was marginally stronger than her Marine counterpart Matthew, it came with the caveat of bringing along a few pints of replacement life-blood for any worrisome cuts and enough medical supplies to carry a small group of operators through a sortie.

Bare feet against metal carried her to the shower, allowing herself to soak in the near scalding water as red dye began to leech away from her hair and down the drain. The recycler had long been found capable of separating the contaminated water, but the worry still plagued her briefly as she watched it swirl around the drain before disappearing out of sight.

Even out of sight, it still was never completely out of her mind as she pondered when the last time the filters had been examined.

A select cleaning service planetside had been hired to maintain her abode while she was out and about. The keycode locks of her home assuredly changed with each visit as the holo-mail from her security provider reminded her with updated coding. Alongside those, the biometric locks from First United Astral Engineering had been a wonder for her peace of mind.

It didn't hurt that her home was also settled within the space of equally, if not worryingly so, paranoid spies for hire.

Their sensors for spacefaring detection paired with her own had been a terrible annoyance for any vessel hoping to sneak through unannounced. But it kept the space around the planet free from any possible inflection of trouble and that was what the Sister's enjoyed most.

The towel was nearly too much for the overstimulated woman. Even a soft texture such as the luxury towels near to grating on overworked senses. She struggled through the unwelcome feeling as one might push through the pulling of a splinter. A sigh of relief when she deemed herself dry enough to put on comfy clothes.

She examined her face in the mirror. Pinpointed the tiny discrepancy between new and old flesh along her jawline and scalp as she pulled back the coffee colored hair to spy the replacement scalp. Another round of treatments had taken place after her second time with Zerø's gang.

The life of confident and in control Niki had taken a turn with her decision there, and she had reverted back from the ginger locks to something reminiscent of her old life.

The hand slid down, resting on the familiar fabric that promised comfort in the moments between work. A sigh punctuated the quiet. Silence would have been a poor word between the sounds of the air filtration system and low but droning hum of electronics as she pulled the sweater over her head.

The towel had been tantamount to torture, while the donning of old familiar things was like walking into a childhood home.

Oversized and well worn attire covering her, she didn't bother with slippers as the warmth-greedy floor sapped the heat from her. Steps taking her out into the living room as her stomach grumbled and tightened in complaint for lack of attention.

She pondered what even might have been agreeable when the droning quiet broke.

A chime came in from the other room. An alert from the drones flitting about in the midst of some process of assembly most likely. Amber eyes picked through the twilight setting with ease. Bright against the drab gray and blues that shone about the place.

Her steps around the furniture measured to keep from ending up crying on the floor from the agony that compared to nothing possible within the known galaxy of a stubbed toe.

Twirling the back of the seat around, she curled up into the massive thing. Tucking her legs in, she pulled herself closer with her arms until the keyboard pressed into her thighs before expanding the alert to full screen.

The curious look changed to something of concern. Regret for opening the message drowning out the relaxed feeling about her as she leaned back into the chair. She set the message aside, opening a new window and doing a wide net search for any headlines that might have alluded to her presence. A few minutes of searching revealed nothing thankfully.

But there was always the off chance that something slipped through.

Activating the Queen Artificial Intelligence she had been sitting on, the holo-projection came to life beside her and nodded silently to its creator. The express wish was shared for a deep holo-net search for any mentions of her name, business name, or anything that might have vaguely alluded to her physical description.

The Queen Mother simply nodded and bowed before dissipating. A deep and winding sigh as Niki spun in the chair, arms limp and dangling as she listened to the chair whine at the motion.

What was she to do now?

She hadn't prepared in the slightest and in fact this had been the furthest thing from her mind with all the goings on that had occurred of late. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, the slight twinge of pain steadying the spiraling thoughts that threatened to ruin her day before it had even begun.

Resting her face against the hand, she locked her arm against the blank space beside the keyboard and cleared out the search window before opening the order screen to her favorite place on Emberlene.

Knowing full well she would hear about the choice to dine in rather than out later from Matthew, she shook her head as the order was confirmed with an estimated time of delivery.

Her stomach angrily grumbled once more as she bowed her head over the keyboard and willed her physical body into silence to no avail.

Frustration with a touch of panic forced her to stand and make the journey from her work area to the small kitchen area, rummaging through the cold storage before solemnly piecing together something that resembled a decent snack. The spoiled foods had been removed it seemed.

Which was a shame because that meant she would have to place another order for those star-forsaken cheeses Scherezade had shared with her some time ago.

The memory brought a weary smile to her face.

A simpler time in her life. If being on the fringes of the galaxy sticking their thumbs into a large, frightening, and well armed government's nose was something to consider simpler.

Even with all the bad, it had been a time when she had been allowed to create without boundaries. Or at least outside of what most would consider conventional anyway. She wondered quietly if those gun toting asteroids were still floating around the Scintilla. The reminder of her past creations brought with it another thought about where those might better serve their purpose as she looked to her now empty plate of snacks with a frown.

She'd delayed long enough.

Staring at the black load screen after clicking on the link to the first alert, she watched her face cycle through expressions. Something she hadn't done in a while. Her own face seemed foreign, like someone else's staring back at her. The dark hair, the slight lines, the amber colored-

She froze out of pure terror, a hand shooting to the back of her ears as the screen shown brightly and made her squint. A window on screen appeared as she felt the button just behind her left ear as a face slowly slipped into view.

The button depressed, and her vision went blurry. The bright colors began to wash out distinctive lines. The colors sort of blending together as the glow of her eyes settled back into their gray blue color. Her eyes squinted sharply to see. Like someone had placed pulled apart cotton balls in front of her eyes.

Her hands scrambled for the old glasses she wore, and failed to find them as a voice greeted her. She stopped searching, focusing on the vague face that peered at her across the stars.

"Hey mom. I'm here, yeah. No, I ordered food in don't worry-"

 

[Mairéad Solus]

Spoiler: Equipment:

Velmorite bladed lightsabers
Knife on ankle
Ladies Watch
FDS-4F blaster pistol
Marzanna
Datapad

Mairéad was the smallest of the girls working today, which meant she got the worst jobs, she scurried on her hands and knees behind the machinery, pausing and ducking as pistons whizzed past nearby, the metal rivers on the bases of them leered at her, any one of them would happily end her short life. The noise was deafening, Whistling, banging and humming as only a few feet away, luxury goods were being made for sale to wealthy clients. And the smell, the acrid smell of burning hydraulic oils and rubber from the converters above her head made her feel sick.

She continued forward, with every step the walls seemed to close in around her and she felt her heart racing with the fear, it was dark in here, and one slip was all it could take. She got a little further and finally found the part of the machine, a gear that had slipped its mountings. She reached and pushed it back on the mount with the rubber hammer she had clipped to her waist. The moment it clipped into place it began to spin again, almost taking her hair into the workings. It would cost them more to stop the machines than to replace her, and they knew it. Now to leave. She turned, and the corridor stretched away from her into the darkness, sharp toothed machinery reached in like a gauntlet she wasn't meant to survive. She began crawling and the channel seemed to get tighter and tighter, pressing in on her, hitting her with the pistons until…..

Mairéad awoke suddenly, her heart was racing and sweat poured from her brow.

"Another nightmare?" came a soft voice from the pillow next to her. Mairéad briefly felt confusion before looking next to her and feeling comfort to see a friendly face. "Yeah, but did I even tell you?"

"Of course you did, remember" came the reply before she could finish. Mairéad just shook her head with a smile and leaned in close for comfort, she reached up and wove her fingers into her partner's hair, leaning in for an affectionate kiss….

There was a loud buzzing and Mairéad's eyes opened, again. She was alone on the Marzanna and her clock had quite charmingly woken her up. She looked at her empty pillow and smirked to herself, "So that's new"

She had a busy day planned, her ship was still on route to coruscant and would arrive within the hour so she needed to get ready. The young woman reached across and threw her silk gown on and went to the fresher. Looking at her clock again, it was 11 am on Denon so she would make a quick call to her business associate while she dressed. She turned on the taps and disappeared in a cloud of steam before reappearing a few minutes later. Grabbing her holo, she put in the call, voice only.

"Good morning, is your day alright so far?"

"Uh-huh, about an hour, just got to, ow, sorry" she grinned as she looked at her eyebrows now she had got that loose hair.

"Yeah, that's perfect, I won't go a credit higher than that."

She reached over and grabbed her make up and began to apply it.

"I was hoping to get him to 25 percent"

She laughed, making her mascara crooked "damn!"

"I learned from the best didn't I?"

She held her mouth open as she carefully applied liquid eyeliner.

"u-huh… u-huh… u-huh. What? They aren't already there? OK, I'm transferring now….. Password bee-ell-ayy-cee-kay-eye-cee-eee… there it should be done." She giggled and glanced at the clock again.

"Listen, I had better go, I'll see you for a drink to celebrate yeah!

Ciao!"

She closed the comm and continued to get ready, sliding into her business clothes and just very briefly pausing to run her fingers along a fine scar on her leg that she had earned many years ago in an industrial incident as a child. The last touch was her lipstick, she put it on and blew a kiss into the mirror, perfect. Her shoulders rocked as she laughed a little at how much fun she was having being this person, it was fairly intense but it fit her like a glove. As she finished admiring herself, there was a ping at the door for her to attend to, her ship was approaching one of the landing chimneys and the autopilot recommended manual override. She had been informed her new rank meant she could bring goons along for things like this, but Mairéad had always been and always intended to be self-sufficient.

As the pale blue metallic craft descended into the chimney, Mairéad looked around her at the other traffic, the location wasn't that far down, but she stopped near the shallows because she had given herself time for breakfast before she went to meet with the seller. Lovely little restaurant that was friendly with some of the Family. Mairéad parked her ship in a secure hangar and made the short walk to the well-lit restaurant. Sitting down, she tried not to make eye contact with the staff but put her hands to her sternum and made a few gestures <<Maple muffin… 3 crispy pig… coffee, Epicano>>. There was a short delay before a staff member approached her, "Your order, I apologise, the pigs were a little uncooperative this morning, so the chef has taken the liberty of substituting bacon. You are getting closer though Miss Solus" he let out a little chuckle and she smiled politely back. "This looks perfect, thank you." he excused himself and she enjoyed her breakfast, leaving her credits on the table before heading to her meeting a few dozen levels below.

The heels of the enforcer clicked along the hard floors of coruscant, she made sure to take everything in, staying observant, was this the sort of street she would want to walk down to a nightclub? A touch more lighting wouldn't go amiss, but it seemed OK. Ahead she could see the club in question Moonlighters. The frontage looked in good condition and the owner had turned the neon light on, they were closed but he knew a buyer was coming. "Young lady, young lady, this way!" a deep voice came from a service alley next to Mairéad. She looked and saw a Chevin man, she raised her eyebrows while pulling her coat back to show that she was carrying her Blaster

"Oh, Miss Solus, I should have told you, I'm the owner, you are here to meet me."

"The owner huh? There a reason you aren't as human as you told me you were?" Her hand now rested on her pistol.

"An understandable question, people don't trust my kind, puts us at a disadvantage, I assure you I am on the level, if you check your pad, my details should have refreshed now."

"We don't like being lied too. But, I'm in a good mood and I'm here to do business, so let's see if we can't still come to an arrangement." she smiled thinking it might have just got that little bit easier to meet her price target for the day. See sent a quick message on her datapad to Marcella.

Owner lied, he's a Chevin, shall we say if I get 30% I'll buy the drinks tonight? Mai x

"Shall we". Mairéad put the pad down before relaxing a little and the two walked towards the bar. The man did seem pleasant enough and seemed fairly excited to show her round, and the venue, the venue was as expected, today was just the last day of a process, with the Family legal team already having assessed and valued the business. The owner had over-valued, and Mairéad wanted to pay less than the asking price, which was completely expected and how this worked. If anything the very low price of Reveries on Denon had caused her more surprise, but that place was a very special find. After several hours of exploring, and Mairéad using holograms to help visualise the future plans they sat down and the Chevin poured her a drink.

"This has been a very productive visit, you have seen our valuation and all the surveys have come back fine." she clicked on her pad and brought up a figure that she transmitted to the man "This is the price we would like to offer you for your establishment, funds are available immediately for transfer" The man raised an eyebrow and pressed a button to increase the figure a little before sending it back to her. Mairéad looked and considered, it was a little too high still, "You chevin drive a hard bargain don't you" she slid back the number with a counter offer. The man sighed and smiled at Mairéad. "Then i suppose old Moonies is yours then" he laughed and signed with his biometric details

"A pleasure doing business, if you are about, feel free to pop in for the grand opening" she warmly invited the man.

"Ha, this money will keep me in drink and exotic women until I'm feeding the plants, if I'm ever back on coruscant after we finalise, things have gone horribly wrong." he raised his glass to her and shortly after she left with the signed contracts.

Place is great, done deal at 27.1percent off the asking price. Mai x

Her last message was to The Donna herself, Ivory Stroud.

Ms Stroud,

Reveries Coruscant purchase is completed, I will head to the lounge to drop off the paperwork in person for your approval before I leave for Denon. I hope the lounge is ready for some friendly competition.

Mairéad

She had no idea if the Donna was about, and had no reason to deliver digital contracts by hand, but she was finding she preferred the personal touch, and it would be rude not to pay a visit to the lounge when on coruscant. It wasn't far, so she flagged down a speeder cab and left her ship where it was. As she sat in the back of the speeder she had a short moment to reflect on her day and take stock of things. Her life was different now, and she was in love with everything about it, the little slave girl was still here and she gave Mairéad the strength not to go back, she hoped to never forget who she was then. But looking at the reflection in the glass of the cab, she couldn't help but admire who she was now.

 

[Diocletian Kahmen’’a]

Location: Southern Coast, UbaIV

High Holiday month is when every Ubese descends on their homeworld for weeks of prayer, reflection and revelry. Diocletian never missed it, as it was a chance to reconnect with his clan and people. He had cleared it with The Family, and he'll be away from where he could be reached. He hardly called home as it is and his mother is hitting her mid-90s. This also means Tovald will be here too, but for this time they do not argue or even hurl snark at each other. For now, they are a united front.

<"The highlight of the year and a chance to be among our kind.">

<"Yes, had to clear it with the BHG, they were fine with it. A clear sky, still air and excited happy people is the best part, thus far.">

<"Tovald, we need to get into position or we will never get fed.">

The entire populace was gathering on the coast in an eyeshot of The Finger formation, but now the last manual Lighthouse is visible. Every Ubese from all four corners of UbaIV had gathered to begin the Week. Several dialects buzzed all around. A common language is rich in diverse vernacular. There are a few Justeeneses here, as well as the Vivieses, Kivyia and the smaller Clans between. Diocletian had changed into a tunic so that he knew he was home and not at work and not on duty for anyone.

Every year around this time, before the storm season hits and they have violent Cyclones until the Spring. This was how they can keep track of important events by counting the days to the first Cyclone. The days are structured around Reconnection, Reflection, Prayer and Revelry. What better place than the coast, where land meets Ocean?

The afternoon was silent, everyone sat on the beaches watching the water ebb and flow, the time to reflect on the year gone by and how they can look to the future. Isidor sat in front, hair bun as untidy as ever, the Justeeneses often had long hair, never really cut it either. A few inches where the ends frayed was enough. Vivieses had notoriously fluffy hair, practically un-brushable and tended to crackle with static. But there is a distinct absence as if someone couldn't be here. A shame but not everyone can make it.

He did try to keep a data pad on him so he can make notes on the moon and stars, he was one of the older Ubese there so he was tasked with Wayfinding along with 40 others. This allows the Fishermen and Lighthouse Keepers to keep ahead of the Ocean. Because a few times the Cyclones came early, far beyond the predicted dates. Seven years prior it caught them off guard and the surges swept many out to sea and knocked the Lighthouse at an angle, which was promptly repaired. They vowed to never allow it to happen again.

The sun’s reflection danced like fireflies on the gentle Ocean as it set, the clear skies made it even prettier. The High Holidays begin once it sets, and the evening feast begins, everyone shares and nothing is wasted. The aroma of curried fish wafted through the salty air, followed by meats and drinks. Oh, they even baked bread for the occasion.

Diocletian had greeted his Mother, a warmly old woman who has decades of life to her name and impressive military history. When their Father died, Hera took over the reins and repulsed an invasion by another clan that took advantage of the sudden power vacuum it caused. Diocletian would be their Vallax, but that means he wouldn’t be part of The Family as he cannot be in two places at once. So it was decided that his only surviving Brother 2 years his Junior Baskoro should take their mother’s place when she passes on.

<"Our Mother knows best, so I accept her decision">

<"There is nothing to stop you from taking the reins.">

<"There is The Family. They need me there with them.">

<"Clan loyalty Diocletian, we need you here! We are your real Family!">

<Baskoro, do as you are told, you should be more than capable of leading.">

<"But-">

Diocletian walked away, effectively ending the exchange. The aroma of a feast intensified as everyone passed around plates of food until everyone had a plate of food. These are of the highest standard and the flavours danced on your tastebuds. They had many days to reconnect and restore Clan Bonds, Pray, Reflect, Feast and engage in Revelry.

Soon as the sky purpled and there were talks of marriages and alliances. Diocletian had always dodged it, he didn't want to settle. No, the Galaxy was still ripe for picking. He nibbled on some bread as he eyed Erion, who can miss him, tall, all limbs and with an air of ego and selfishness about him.

Still, he got into the atmosphere of peaceful unity too and embraced his family.

Isidor had wanted to bring his beloved with him but he knew that it wasn't possible and his son was still too young. Erion had gently nudged his sibling that no outsider has ever been on the planet during the High Holidays and they are not starting now. Isidor was very annoyed by this. Soon, an argument erupted.

<"Cass should come, I love her and want her to be in my life and be part of the family!">

<"No, Isidor, she isn't welcome. You should know that.">

<"You are UNBELIEVABLE Erion, you decide to be an obstinate jerk during the Holidays!">

<"Orthodox, there is a difference. High Holidays are an Ubese tradition. No Humans, no children under 10 you know that.">

<"UGGGH!">

Isidor sighed in resignation and headed towards where the fireworks were kept. They were about to announce the start of the most important weeks on the Calendar and as soon as the first rocket cracked the sky with colour everyone cheered.

Music soon drifted in the still night air.

 

[Johnny Diamonds]

Nar Shaddaa
Corellian Sector
Level 88
The Meltdown Café

~'I've seen them come, I've seen them go. Times will never change, it's the same old song...' ~

[Johnny's Soundscape: In The Shadows]

He really didn't even know where the feth he belonged anymore. Hell, he wasn't sure he ever really belonged to begin with, it's not like he ever fit in anywhere he went. Face it, Johnnyboy, you're a loser. Always have been, always will be. And no amount of fake bravado or insincere brevity was going to change that. At least, he didn't think anything would. Truth of the matter was that he didn't have a single friend in the galaxy, and he didn't think he ever really would again. And it all started back in that rat-infested chithole of an apartment he called 'home'. He scoffed at that, home. Yeah, right. Home didn't exist for someone like him. He was just another warm body in the crowd, a single speck of flesh in the throngs of sentient life. In the grand scheme of all things, he simply did not matter in the slightest. Life would keep moving at it's own pace, and those that marched down the filth ridden streets did so without a single care for anything but themselves.

Shoving the old durasteel door to the Meltdown Cafe open, he walked out, turning a corner almost as quickly. Walking down the alleyway, he was met by the sight of garbage and broken scrap scattered about, and a few homeless bums warming themselves by a fire that barely flickered within a metallic refuse barrel. A few dim lamps hung overhead, housed in industrial fixtures, encased in wrought steel cages. The sound of massive exhaust fans slowly rotating filled the night air, the smells of the vertical city bearing down on him like a great beast of burden. The scents of urine, rotten flesh, singed ozone, and all manner of foul odors assaulted him, and he wrinkled his nose a bit as he walked. Hands stuffed into pockets a little too deep for him, the coat he wore some dingy black thing he'd found second-hand at a junk shop. He cast a long shadow as he stopped between lights, and leaned up against a permacrete wall that was littered with adverts for cred brokers willing to lend, the latest in V.R. simulation soft, and countless alcohols and spirits.

A faint breath escaped his lips, as he pulled a crumpled silver-hued packet from one of those deep pockets. He took a bent cigarra from it, and then lifted it up to eye level. Empty now, figures. Tossing it aside without a thought, he produced a lighter from the other pocket, and lit it, taking a long drag, inhaling the smoke deeply within his still-organic lungs. Closing his eyes, he let his head falls the inch or so backwards, resting on the cold, cracked wall. He exhaled a thick cloud of greyish blue tinted smoke, and let his hands drop to his sides, dangling there as the cigarra hung precariously from his lips. His mind was racing, with all manner of questions, and self doubts. It was a maddening cacophony of sounds, mixed in with the ambient noises one typically heard down here in the Corellian Sector.

Using an elbow, he shoved himself off the wall, and started walking toward the neon mish-mash of lights ahead, slipping the lighter back from whence it came. He really didn't even quite remember how he'd ended up down this way, if he was being honest with himself. The result of yet another ryll-induced fever dream, most likely. Wasn't like the youth cared one way or another. Life seemed so meaningless these nights. It all just blended together now, a symphony of bad luck and meaningless pursuits. If there was an answer for him somewhere out there, it eluded him. Hell, it was most likely avoiding him like the gulag plague. Not really surprised there either.

Soon enough, he found himself down a main drag through the sector, speeders flying by, masses of fleshy and metallic sentient life filing every which way you could imagine. Sliding into the mass of people, he just kept on walking, no idea where he was headed. But after what seemed like a good hour or so of hoofing it, he ducked down into another alleyway, one he'd never been down before. Making his way down into the shadows, he twisted around, and leaned onto another wall, and slid down it until his ass was on the cold permacrete. Reaching toward his neck, he grabbed the hood of his jacket, and pulled it up and over, until it hung low over his brow. The cigarra still hung from his lips, a good bit of ash finally falling off and onto his pants. He didn't pay it any mind, not even bothering to brush it off. He rooted around an inside pocket of the shabby jacket, and found what he was looking for.

A small vial, transparent, with a little black screw top. Within it, a red powder with a bit of a sparkle to it. Twisting the cap off, he brought the little vial up toward his face, and took a good hard whiff of the stuff. As the gleaming red ryll made it's way back into his nasal cavity, he spun the top back on the little vile, and put it back into his pocket, tapping at it to make sure it was safely snug. Leaning his head back once more, he let out a contented sigh, inhaling the smoke from the cigarra as his muscles relaxed and he slumped over a bit. Now leaning on what might have been a dumpster, maybe it was a create of some sort, he didn't know. didn't care.

As the ryll worked it's way into his system, affecting his synapses and dulling his senses, he found what he'd been looking for. Sweet, red-tinted oblivion, free from the worry and the regret. A bit of a demented smile played at the corner of his mouth, and the almost-finished cigarra fell from his lips, rolling down his jacket and out toward the alley, extinguished in a pool of force only knew what. And as the last wisps of smoke floated off into the sky above him, his eyes shut slowly, and into that sweet oblivion he passed, unconscious. Would he wake up? He hoped not, but knowing his luck, karma wouldn't be so kind. It was like it always was...

...just another night.

 

[Jai'galaar Gred]

Location: Deep Space
Time: Roughly On Ship Evening
​

Jay walked along the halls of the corvette that he'd called home for a long time now, one of the crew was arguing with the bounty hunter, glaring as she tried to get answers.

"Look. Why are we taking a longer route. It's not like the Enclave will attack some old corvette. Heck, I know you call her an FAC, but the Cloud isn't exactly fresh of the line." Jay took a rough breath, opening his cabin before answering.

"I don't care if it's faster to go through Enclave space. The route's already set so just stick to it. Understood." It was pretty clear this wasn't a question. The crewmember just nodded, about to ask if she had to listen to the annoying floating droid before Jay closed the door in her face. It... wasn't easy to explain some his decisions to the crew wen they didn't know. EW and Ki'tala were the only ones. Jay Galore. Just a name he put on for the rest of the Galaxy. He slowly got into something more comfortable for a night's rest. But then he looked to the side.

There stood a locked weapon's locker. He rarely ever opened it now, but.... No. He didn't... he couldn't look.... He was about to just get a shower before stopping. He took another looked before sighing to himself. He walked up, tapping a code into the lock. Slowly he opened the locker, revealing something that would probably surprise anyone on the ship. The helmet may not have had the classic t-visor, but the set was still clearly Mandalorian in build. It was Mandalorian armor, that belong to one Jai'galaar Gred. Who he really was....

He had kept the cloak from the armor, though recolored, but everything else, including his old weapons, was locked away in here. After the thing he'd done back on Concord Dawn after the Sith invaded. He.... He just put a hand against the armor. He didn't even want to say what he thought he was. He had always wondered how long he could run from his past, though. So far he seemed to be pretty good at it, but he knew his clan had tried to reclaim lost ships on occasion, but it wasn't like he was pirate making himself an obvious target. He was just a bounty hunter and freight hauler... ok technically a smuggler, but that wasn't that bad. He closed his eyes again, closing and relocking the locker. He needed rest, and reminiscing wasn't going to help him get it. Probable the opposite honestly. Maybe he could face it one day, but not today.

For now, he'd just avoid the Enclave, Mandalorian Covenant, House Solus, the Maw, and others out there. He'd just... keep going he guessed, and deal with things as they came.

 

[Arturo]

Arturo, clad in his three-piece suit and walking around the end of the long table at the middle of the meeting room, pinched his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. The Rodian near him had just signed the agreement that Arturo had presented him. It was for a piece of land that had a structure on it, not quite up to code and so Arturo was buying it off of him. Though the price he offered was shockingly low. In the bargaining process, Arturo had thrown an astronomically small amount of credits, thinking that they'd go back and forth to find a middle ground. This was a major win for Arturo, but still he was incredibly disappointed.

The piece of property was out of code, yes, but it was a hideaway for this small-time gang. Alongside the Rodian were two men, one a burly-looking Twi'Lek man with orange skin and the other some obscure race, had tough leathery gray skin and a horn coming out of his forehead. Arturo didn't know if it was some body modification, a realistic mask, or some race he hadn't heard of.

"Tell me, at what point did you lose your manhood?" He said in passable Rodian. "Was it before this meeting, or will it be when your boss finds out you sold his hideout for a measly amount of money?"

All three of them looked sharply up at that. "What?" The Rodian said.

"Why would our boss find out?" The Twi'Lek asked. "You said that this was a secret deal, that he wouldn't know who made the deal."

"Well obviously I was lying, gentleman!" He turned to face them. "You think I, someone buying property from a bunch of bucktoothed lowlifes wouldn't tell their boss who did it so he could kill you? I always hated traitors and cowards, I wish there were far less of them in this galaxy, less of you. 'Stay in your lane', I say!" He was walking around the table, pacing as he talked. "If you're a criminal, be criminal! If you are in an organization, you stay there! Not sell your place for cash and pretend that you had nothing to do with it! And when you're doing something so scummy and despicable you take my first offer?" He grabbed the back of a chair, leaning against it and looking downward. "You seriously wanted to run off with any cash you could, didn't you? Huh? Skip town on your crew and your boss like they were nothing?!" He yelled as he looked up at the three men.

They... weren't sitting down anymore. They were standing, guns raised at him.

Slowly, he raised his hands. "Woah, gentleman, gentleman! Well, maybe not you rhino-boy, you don't look gentle, but the rest of you come on now, you don't want to be doing this!"

"I... Think we do." Said the Rhino-man.

"I think we kill him, take the money he has, and get out of here. Tell the boss we stole it or something." The Rodian added. The Twi'lek just reached down and tore the paper in two.

"Hey now!" Arturo objected. "It's hard to come by actual paper these days! Everything's done on data pads and I thought I was showing you rats what it was like to feel something real for once! And nothing to say about the pen and ink! And you just tear it up?" He looked more distraught that they had torn the paper than where their guns were pointed.

The Twi'Lek scoffed, looked at the other two, nodded, then faced Arturo again before pulling the trigger.

It was precisely before he squeezed the trigger that the door into the meeting room broke free of its sliding tracks and flew into the room. It twisted in mid-air, sliding along its edge along the top of the table right between Arturo and the three men. It blocked the blaster bolt in the brief instant it was moving. It continued to move and crashed into the opposite wall, embedding itself into it.

The men were stunned and backed away from the ruined table, all staring wide-eyed at the door. There was some dust and a little bit of smoke, Arturo also pressed against the wall, staring. Out of the doorway stepped a droid. It was smaller than Arturo, and, well, obviously a 'she'. She had just her bare metal exterior showing. She wasn't 'indecent' the way sentients could be. She didn't have naughty bits, just the way she was proportioned was obviously female. Her robotic eyes landed on Arturo and he started scooting away from it. There was only one way into and out of this room, but it was pure instinct that he was running on. Move away from the scary robot lady. He thought that she must have been with these walking barrel-scums, sent by their boss to kill them all. But when the Twi'Lek said, "Who is that?" and shot at her, it sort of conveyed that none of them knew who or what this was.

The three men opened fire on her with their blasters. She moved. Not like she jolted and recoiled from the blast like droids would be getting shot. She moved with her feet. Towards them. Arturo wasn't sure where the blades had come from, but suddenly there were blades sticking out of her arms and the Twi'Lek's hand came off halfway down his forearm. He screamed before her other arm flew up and slammed his jaw closed so hard Arturo literally saw a tooth fly and heard others crack to pieces. He didn't make any more sound, his head just flew up sharply and he dropped like a stack of books.

The Rhino-man got smart and picked up one of the metal chairs and swung it at her overhand. The metal chair exploded into shrapnel as it impacted the droid, a large piece flying towards Arturo. Arturo dodged it and decided to hit the floor. He saw the open doorway and began crawling towards it, keeping the table in between the scary droid lady and himself. The Rodian cried out before something heavy and wet slammed into the thick table, breaking it in the middle. Arturo crawled faster.

There was a battlecry roar, low and from the gut that shook the light fixtures. Arturo heard the high-pitched whirring of motors and metal scraping against the carpet. Arturo glanced and saw him tackling her, his massive body pushing her across the floor as he tried to take her to the floor. He heard a modulated female grunt of effort, and basically got to his feet to run to the door. Just before he reached it, Rhino-man flew through the air and smashed his head against the wall next to the doorframe. He looked dazed, arms moving to push himself off and legs starting to move, until the droid flew after him, knee bent. With her knee, she put his head into the wall. His arms and legs went limp. Her head instantly snapped to Arturo.

Obviously, Arturo stopped in his tracks at the sight and pressed against the doorframe. "Hi, scary droid lady! Uhh, how are you? Boy, have I not seen a body like that since I went down to-"

"I find 'scary droid lady' to be too long to serve as an adequate name." She said, stepping closer to the scared lawyer. Her voice was a woman's voice, though through a speaker like those protocol droids. When she repeated what he had called her, she played his own voice back to him.

Arturo blinked. "Cool, well, uh, what would be an adequate name then?" He asked giving a brief smile, still scooting away against the wall. He saw the alien blood on her hands and the knee she used to push, or maybe crush, the Rhino-man's head through the wall.

"I do not yet have one." She answered. "My model number is MV/3N-V1. Sir, do you wish for me to respond to this model number as my default?"

He stood breathing hard. "W-...what?"

She emitted a small sad 'beep' sound. "Explanation required. I was built by Moonveil Incorporated as your personal bodyguard. I intervened because your life was in danger. I have not yet been set up yet with the personal preferences of the one I am programmed to accompany, which is unsuitable for my task. Whenever you'd like to begin, let's start with a name that is easy for you to say. I find MV/3N-V1 to be difficult to say in combat scenarios." When she got close enough to him, she stood still.

So she wasn't going to kill him afterall. He swallowed. "Uh, well, Model Number MV/3N-V1... Envy? I'll call you Envy." He said, straightening up a little. "Who commissioned you to be made?"

She gave a higher-pitched beep this time, like a droid's approval noise. "Envy. I will respond to this name from now on. And I was commissioned by Ms. Stroud for your benefit, Sir."

Ivory Stroud had her made? Well, that explained a few things. He straightened up a bit more and centered his tie. "Well then," He cleared his throat. "If you get a nickname, so do I. No more calling me 'Sir', refer to me as 'Arturo'. But you can call me Sir if others around us don't know my name."

There was another approved beeping noise. "Affirmative. Now, would you wish to complete the rest of the personalization protocols?"

Arturo looked at the ruined and bloody room. "I think we can get to that later, for now..." He walked back inside, stepping over the bodies and found the two pieces of the torn paper and his pen. He also witnessed the Rodian's head much flatter than it should have been, a huge spray of his fluids drying on the surface of the table. Holy crap, Ivory hadn't been kidding around. At least the paper was clean.

"Let's get out of here," He said to Envy as he passed her. "We can pick up their money, I know where they hide it, and I'll need to get this room cleaned up." He gave a small short breath as he made sure the cuff of his sleeve was near his wrist, a tick he performed whenever there was new work to be done.

"To-Do List made and your usual clean-up services contacted." Envy stated.

Arturo turned to her, stopping. He stared at her for a long moment, then smiled. "It looks like I got myself an assistant as well as a bodyguard! But Don't make any appointments or anything while my actual secretary is around. She's a single mother and needs the job, can't put her out on the street just because you came along, can I?"

"You can." Envy stated.

Arturo laughed, and they both walked away from the nightmare of a board meeting room. And that was the start of those days.