"You're right," Kiyen drawled, leaning on a streetlamp a few yards away. "It doesn't do you justice."
Some bounties hid really well, whether in deep holes on backwater planets or heavily-fortified penthouse apartments in the core. Some hid really poorly, changing their names but not going offworld or changing their credit stick identifiers or transponder codes. And some, like this guy, didn't hide at all. Every mark like him had a reason, whether it was actual mental illness or just getting off on the infamy, but Kiyen didn't let that bother her. She was just happy to skip the tracking part and get straight to payday.
As obvious as the Nautolan was making himself, Kiyen was being pretty subtle, as per usual. She wore no obvious armor, just a teal jacket (to match her eyes) over a white blouse and a pair of brown cargo pants. Never mind the grounded, reinforced inlays or the concealed pockets brimming with weapons and gadgets, she didn't look much different from the half-dozen people the criminal had just scared off. Except that she'd stayed, of course; that much served to set her apart.
The huntress sighed internally when the fish-head pulled out a lightsaber; of kriffing course he was a Jedi. As much as it complicated things, it made sense; a 500,000 credit bounty made the payout for just about every job she'd ever pulled, whether for scuzzy noblemen or upright senators, look like chump change. Nobody shelled out that much for someone who wasn't really fething dangerous, especially not on a "dead or alive". Frankly, this was one she wasn't sure she could handle.
But sithspit if that wasn't a druk-ton of money, and sithspit if she didn't love money.
"If you're done playing with the locals," she said, batting her eyelashes and allowing a smile to creep onto her face, "d'you wanna buy a girl a drink? Pretty clear you're the only real man around here." Idly she wondered if he was going to kill the security guard; she'd heard in the bounty posting that he'd killed a man in a barfight for insulting his species, and that he'd blown up an entire kriffing refinery, so who knew what kind of violence he was capable of?
But what did she care about the poor slob? The credit signs flashing in front of her eyes were far too distracting.
[member="Gul Junso"]
