A Fistful of Credits

[Delain Afric]

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A Fistful of Credits​

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Groups of friends laughed uproariously, men flirted with the Twi'lek waitresses, and Delain asked for a drink to go. "Whaddya want?" The bartender's warm voice rumbled. Delain slid over a grimy menu and tapped on a whiskey. "It'll take a few." Delain grunted. He eyed the doorway as the bartender chatted up the other customers. "Hey." A Duros man tapped on his shoulder. "Hey!" Delain stared at the wall, stonefaced. "Remember me? You once did a job for me. Shot that piece of chit Neimodian back on Tython? Don't remember do you?"​

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"Come on ma-" Delain quickly turned to face the man. "How about this. Shut your mouth. Or I'll kick your teeth down your throat and shut it for you." He stared, a beat followed. "Right." The man briskly walked away. The bartender glared at him. "Here's your drink. Get out." Delain didn't even blink. ​

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However, what Delain didn't know was that his departure would be held up for a while.​

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[member="Guy Freeman"]​

 

[Guy Freeman]

Been A while since Guy had been to a place where people just socialised. He had been on the hunt for a man, got an anonymous tip from a man telling him to bring the man back dead or alive. He didn't mind either way. 50,000 Credits did not lie. He found the bar the man had gone to, pretty petty and on the down low. Not exactly a place you'd take your family. He had taken a seat by the back of the bar. He took a cigar from his shirt pocket, and lit it, the bitter-sweet smoke suited him perfectly, but the confrontation happening with his man did not.

He was told to leave? Well... that was not gonna suit his plans at all. He got up from his seat, and walked up to the bartender.

"Scotch, ice. Me and my friend are gonna stay a while" He said this, pressing his Heavy Duty Blaster Pistol on the bartenders side, his gun shielded from sight by his poncho. He laid his strong hand on the mans shoulder, and sat him back down into the crusty seats of the second rate Cantina.

He took another smoke of his cigar, before talking to the man. "People'll pay good money for your head son" He took another cigar from his pack, rare to see these days, and offered it to the man.

[member="Delain Afric"]

 

[Delain Afric]

Delain's jaw tightened, as he stared at the man. Puffs of smoke danced around the room. He gripped his glass.. He shifted, his collar now crooked. Light scratches covered his palm, his nails leaving more as his clenched fists grew tighter and tighter. His fingers lightly rapped on the table. He took a breath. ​

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"People will pay good money, huh? In 5 seconds you're gonna walk out of this bar, or I'll break your jaw. You understand?" He said through clenched teeth.​

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His pupils flashed, anger peering through. The bright exit sign seemed to burn its way into Delain's mind, the bright red neon crowding the lights in the room. He took a sip from the crimson drink, not noticing the burn travelling down his throat.​

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[member="Guy Freeman"]​

 

[Guy Freeman]

He Kept a serious face, as this man did not amuse him. He thought of making an insult, then realised that it wouldn't get him anywhere. He Took a sip of his cold Scotch, as he felt the sweet burn as it trickled down his throat. He chewed the end of his cigar, as he loosened his poncho slightly, and suddenly, as if his hands were as lightning incarnate, he brought out his blaster pistol, and shot the corks of the different bottles laid out on the shelf, the hiss shooting from the top of the bottles, the bartender going below his desk, thinking his head would be next. And then, as if nothing happened, his gun shot back into his holster, his poncho tightening, and as if not a single second had gone by, he sat there, taking another drink of his scotch, and took another chew of his cigar.

"Been 7 seconds kid. I don't see a broken jaw, and i sure don't see no exit either. " He sat back into his chair, and once again took the cigar and offered it to the man, while taking a sip of his scotch.


[member="Delain Afric"]

 

[Delain Afric]

Time seemed to move in slow motion as he watched the man whip out his gun at lightning speed. Delain paid no attention to the corks bursting mere inches above his ahead, as his eyes locked on the holster laying across his hip. Right side, under the poncho. Can shoot right through it. The bartender fell to the ground with a loud thud, breaking his concentration. Besides a few men scrambling to the door, the cantina remain dead quiet.​

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The colors in the room seemed filtered by crimson as the man across moved his mouth with no sound, and offered his cigar. "No thanks." Delain knew he could shoot him under the table, and soon he probably would, but all he could see was the crack of bone breaking in his skull, the blood seeping from the mans wounds. All he could hear was the sounds of gunshots echoing in the room, and the man begging for mercy. All he could smell was the burn of blaster fire heating the air. 'Move quick.' He thought.​

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He slid across his seat and swung his glass at the mans head, his free hand sliding for the knife attached to his hip. Delain was anticipating the shot slamming into his side any second now, as he watched his drink spill across the table.​

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[member="Guy Freeman"]​

 

[Guy Freeman]

He Noticed the mans weapon, as he had been watching him all day. Suddenly, he noticed the man pick up his glass, and start to bring it rocketing towards his face. He wasn't 100% sure what to go for. If he shot his side, the knife would kill him, and the glass would scar his face. If he stopped the glass, he would be stabbed. A Quick decision had to be made. He Snapped the gun into his hand, and shot the mans right shoulder, stopping him from reaching for the knife, as he attempted to shoot the left, the glass smashed into his face, leaving a large gash across his cheek, the loud sound making the patrons leave the bar. He shot the mans left hand, as that was all he could do with his damaged vision.

He grabbed the mans neck, his strength resisting with great force, He Kept his gun by his side, as bringing it out would incriminate him.

"Go on. Make my day..." He Laid a glass shard on the table, suggesting the obvious.

[member="Delain Afric"]

 

[Delain Afric]

His shoulder seared in pain as he fell to the ground, only to be yanked back up. Delain was greeted by the visage of blood smeared across the man's grizzled face. The people rushed for the doors, not wanting to get caught up in the fighting. He watched the blood drip down, and he knew his plan of action. Delain slammed his head into the gash, and the man let out a low yelp.​

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Delain stumbled forward, and fell out of the cramped booth. His vision was blurred and strange, as the beat of blood pumping through his shoulder clouded his senses. It hurt. He wound up his left arm, and sent a powerful hook right at his gut. Delain hoped this would prevent him from firing, but anybody with common sense could tell that he was putting himself in a precarious position.​

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[member="Guy Freeman"]​

 

[Guy Freeman]

He had enough, the gash in his face seared with pain, and his gut was worst of all, feeling the strong fist of the man be rocketed into his stomach. He stumbled backwards, and brought his weapon out once more. He pointed towards his foot, and shot for his toe, roughly hitting, the man fell to the ground, as Guy fell into the chair next to him.

He pointed the gun at the mans head, and asked. "Better not have ruined my Cigar" He pulled the cigar from his mouth, and gave one last smoke, before tossing it.

"If you Stop fighting i might just take you alive."

[member="Delain Afric"]

 

[Delain Afric]

Delain's jaw went slack. Shots of fire flew up his leg into his spine, followed by dull bruise. He searched for air to fill his tightening lungs, the room getting smaller and smaller and smaller til it was just him and the gun against the back of his head. He fell on the floor. Delain punched the wall, seeking for feeling anything but the pain in his foot. Slowly, clarity returned to him, and he realized that he was being captured.​

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Not allowing himself to be caught, he grabbed his chair and threw it at his captor. A shot rang out, and there was now a hole in the chair where Delain's head used to be. Taking his opportunity, he grit his teeth and scrambled for the door, every step causing his skin to grow a shade paler. Delain fell to the wet asphalt, letting the cool rain wash over him. His shoulder was throbbing even more now, as repeatedly slamming it into the grown didn't help. Delain drew his knife out with his right with painstaking care, and put it in his left. He crawled behind a corner, and waited for that damn bounty hunter to show his head. If the man was getting his bounty, Delain wasn't going alive.​

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[member="Guy Freeman"]​