Aggressive Negotiations

[Evangeline Cross]

"Ah, Master Cross! It is an honor to welcome you to my humble abode, but I must confess I had not expected you for another two days, at the least."

Graccus was a short, greasy man with beady black eyes that somehow looked like he hadn't eaten in days, despite his rotund shape indicating otherwise. He simpered in the dank lighting of his lavish home like a beetle.

Evangeline Cross, ever the diplomat, smiled. "Please, Graccus. I'm not a Master yet."

"No?" Graccus breathed through an overwrought gasp, clutching his chest. "I never would have guessed! Your aura is imbued with power, and your beauty . . . " His voice trailed off as he ensnared one of Evangeline's small hands inside the meaty paunch of his own. " . . . your beauty, my dear, is unrivaled on Nar Shaddaa."

Graccus was a good businessman, a consummate greaseball, even by Smuggler's Moon standards. He puckered his lips and made to fold at the waist to kiss Evangeline's unfortunate palm, but she was one step ahead. "That won't be necessary," She murmured quickly, retracting her hand inside the pallid fold of her robes. "I'm strictly here for business."

That was not entirely true. Evangeline was sent to Nar Shaddaa as part of an interim trial period reluctantly issued by the Order, not long after the death of her Master. 'The girl is almost old enough for Knighthood,' one of the elders argued. 'Let her test her own abilities before we match her with a new Master.'

Her assignment was a simple one--a small diplomatic mission to the home of the infamous gambler and black market tycoon, Graccus, who tightly controlled a pretty portion of the trade in the Outer Rim territories. 'Observe him, earn his trust, persuade him to loosen his fist,' the elders counseled. 'And be careful.'

Evangeline did not need the warning. The girl had moxie, but she was no fighter. Bravery only went so far in her book; she relied on her sharp intellect and intuition rather than her physical prowess, which was not nearly as impressive. Standing at just a scant two inches over five feet, the young Jedi Padawan was, in fact, just that--small and young. No more than nineteen summers old with all the looks of a kitten, brute force would be getting her nowhere. Not yet, anyway.

She observed Graccus closely as he began to shift from foot to foot. Something was terribly amiss--she didn't have to see Graccus' nervous tick to know that. She sensed it.

"My lady," He suddenly implored, breaking character and wringing his meaty hands. "Today is not a good day for business . In fact--"

And there it was--Whizz! Whoosh! Hiss!--blaster fire.

"Get down!" Evangeline shouted through the smoky haze as the thin red streams of deathly light burst into the room, but Graccus was already down--dead in fact, sprawled on the floor of his own living room like a pig at slaughter. Evangeline might have balked, but there was no time. A man like Graccus had enemies, and she was smart enough to know that the heavily armored men that now filtered in through the smoke from what seemed like every direction worked for one of them.

"Loot the vaults. Bag any other valuables you see. That'll teach Graccus' scum to cross the Hutts." The thick Mandalorian accent came from behind a rusted face mask. That mask now turned its attention to Evangeline. "I'll take this one."

Evangeline froze. The armored man was huge, at least twice her size. A quick assessment told her she would not get far in combat, even with the help of her lightsaber. Think. The smoke! Evangeline snapped to attention, furrowing her thick brows to summon that sacred energy, the Force, outstretching her palms to reel in the billowing smoke from the blaster fire to create a screen for her escape.

Into the night she flew, a stream of long dark curls and billowing white robes, feeling her way into the vast expanse for any safe haven. Nar Shaddaa was bustling with the seedy undergrowth of neon lights and crowds of exiles looking for a good time--Evangeline would blend in as well as a sun in the night sky. She needed somewhere quiet to hide and wait. She needed a void.

And there it was--docked in a nearby hangar, a Viceroy-class Star Yacht. Evangeline, asking no questions and not breaking her pace for an instant, descended upon the hangar like an angel in flight.

 

[Marcus Itera]

"Come on, Jaxon. I swear you're killing me with these prices. Are you bumping them up every time I come in here?"

The old munitions supplier sighed and swaggered over on his single leg to lean against the counter. "Listen Marcus, I'm running a business. There's been more shops like mine popping up around here and it's hard to compete when you've got Duros freaks and Rodians selling you nukes by the dozen for a couple G's." The middle aged fellow looked at his most loyal customer from top to bottom, seemingly taking in every inch of his frame.

"Something wrong?"

"No," Jaxon shook his head. "I'm just seeing if I can notice any wear and tear on you. You know this profession is a tough one; fighting other peoples' wars."

"You know what they say about a man who lives long in a job where men die young - he's good at it. This is all I've ever known, Jax, you know that." Marcus raked a few fingers through his hair before reaching into his pocket to produce a datapad. A few taps at the screen, a few swipes, and then he flipped it around to show his old friend. "These are the supplies I need. I've got the Nimbus in Bay fourteen at the Starlight Spaceport if you can transport it. I can pay in advance too."

Jaxon took a few moments to read over the list, smiling at a few and frowning at others. "An advance payment would be nice. Let me know if any of these look strange, I can replace 'em for ya. Don't want you dissatisfied in any way, or blowing up on your nice little flight back to Naboo."

Marcus returned the smile. "Of course not, thanks." He turned the datapad back around to enter his bank information and wire the funds before moving to depart. "I'll just catch a ride with your speeder and head back to the docking bay. Thanks again, Jax!"

A farewell wave and he was off. The Dreadguard headed back 'round the shop to oversee the quick work done by the labor droids in loading a cargo speeder with his shipment before he hopped into the passenger seat, rocketing off back towards the Starlight Spaceport.

[member="Evangeline Cross"]

 

[Evangeline Cross]

Blood. Thick, warm pools of it stained the stark white of her robes, just above the gentle slope where her arm met her shoulder. In the heat of the moment, Evangeline had not noticed her injury--it could have been stray blaster fire or the resultant shrapnel, for all she cared or knew--the sickeningly sweet combination of adrenaline and smoke had dulled her body's more corporal senses and, in their place, heightened her cognition.

Evangeline gasped as her back hit the side of the sleek Star Yacht. The rise and fall of her chest was heavy, labored even, as she squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back against the sleek metal to pause and catch her breath. One hand rose to clutch her injured arm. Calming her senses, clearing her mind. Think.

It had all happened so quickly. Graccus was dead, and with it, her sole purpose for hauling herself out to Nar Shaddaa--that God forsaken rock on the edge of the universe, where morals went to die. At least when she arrived, Evangeline had been confident she would be able to navigate her way off the Smuggler's Moon without attracting unwanted attention. She knew that was no longer an option.

The Hutts were vile creatures, and what was worse, they held grudges. If the armored Mandalorian had gotten a good enough look at her--and it was safe to assume that he had--Evangeline would be marked. It wouldn't matter that she had no connection to Graccus other than business. Business was enough reason for murder on Nar Shaddaa. Evangeline sensed that she was safe for the moment--the energy surrounding the Star Yacht was pleasantly empty--but she needed to take cover, and quick.

The hum of a speeder approaching the Starlight Spaceport snapped Evangeline back to attention. Her thick lashes flew open from where they had kissed the tops of her cheekbones as she ravenously swept her eyes over the perimeter of the hangar, looking for anywhere to hide. Finding nothing, Evangeline was as good as trapped against the Star Yacht--white robes stained and disheveled, the crowning glory of her dark curls a tangled disarray--as motionless as the fresco of a seraph and equally as striking.

This is what the speeder would find when it attempted to dock in the hangar. Evangeline would be ready for it when it did.

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

"...and that's when the Nikto realized what I did and tripped, smashing right into the bar!"

Marcus let loose with a hearty laugh, nearly doubling over in the passenger seat. The piloting droid didn't seemed too amused with the story, but the mercenary wasn't apt to just sit there quietly the entirety of the ride back. That was far too boring and conversing with things that weren't exactly human happened to be one of his favorite pastimes. He wasn't the most suave, smooth-talking fella out there but he could get whatever information he wanted from anyone after a few drinks. Rugged looks, hard liquor, and friend-like conversation composed the trifecta of good information gathering.

Well, at least they did in his book.

"Who are you even talking to?"

The Dreadguard gave one last snort at his story before answering the voice crackling in his ear. "Just one of Jaxon's old pilot droids. Got bored so I figured I'd at least entertain the thing before the old man wiped its memory."

"You tell everyone that same story."

"And it gets better every time I tell it." A satisfied smile crept upon his features and he sunk back into the chair, fishing out his datapad once again to confirm that the credits had indeed been wired. "I'll be there in a second, so go ahead and open up the loading bay doors and I'll get everything aboard."

Miranda paused for a moment. "Alright. Anything else?" Though he couldn't see it, the primary loading door of the Nimbus lowered to the ground in preparation for the supplies.

Oh boy. He loved it when she asked him that.

"Get Alfred to whip me up something. Something with nerf or bantha; maybe a bantha burger. He knows what I like."

It had been a good day. Got up, strolled about for a bit and then got his newest shipment of weapons and munitions to deliver. Now came the loading, lunch, and then set a course straight for Naboo. Easy peasy.

[member="Evangeline Cross"]

 

[Evangeline Cross]

Saved! Evangeline gave a faint start as, mercifully, the loading door to her right gave way. She watched it lower gently to the ground with almost disbelief, but the girl was not one for wasting time.

She was just small enough to shimmy up the smooth plane designed for sliding cargo into the vessel, and she estimated that if she curled up in just the right manner, her slight body would fit perfectly inside the storage compartment.

There was one hitch, however--her shoulder. It was a fairly superficial wound, but deep enough to be a nuisance, and it was slowing her down. What was more, as Evangeline briefly glanced behind her to pull up the rest of her long robes, she was chagrined to notice a small trail of blood.

"Come on," She implored quietly under her breath, reaching downward from where she sat, perched like a little bird in plain view at the open mouth of the loading bay, in a futile attempt to wipe away the evidence. Time was running out.

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

Their little milk run was shorter than expected. The droid made short work of bobbing and weaving through traffic, adjusted marginally to just slip past the speed limit, and the speeder soon found itself hovering before docking bay fourteen. Marcus hopped out of the speeder for just a second, slipping a handful of credits into the wall outlet as a little tip for the docking staff that had made sure his baby was safe, sound, and refueled. The wide doors opened and they slipped right in.

"Okay, the loading ramp should be lowered in the back. Just fly right in around h-" His voice trailed off as he caught a glimpse of something. "Whoa, stop." What the frell was that? The droid complied silently and put the cargo loader into reverse for a few yards until Marcus was able to see what was against the hull of his starship. It was dark red, wet, and a splotch of it was smeared against the hull.

Blood.

After further inspection of the seemingly fresh splotch of dark red blood, a trail of it led right around to the rear of the ship. Adrenaline immediately began to flood his veins, his hairs standing on end and every nerve of his body readying for a coming battle. People didn't just go smearing their blood on your ships for no reason, at least he hoped, and a trail of it was just as bad. His pistol slipped easily out of its holster, deft hands clasping it with precise movements. The droid on the speeder slowly puttered alongside him as he inched his way around the ship, following the breadcrumb trail of tiny drops of blood.

One last corner.

Marcus rounded it in an instant, blaster pistol drawing up to level with whoever was messing with his ship.

A girl.

He stood stock still, the pistol steadfastly being trained upon her. Surprise and shock morphed her features, her hand clasping at a crimson stain that covered most of her shoulder. Flowing robes adorned her and those dark locks of hers were nothing but a mess.

"Who are you?" The Dreadguard demanded. "Why the frak are you running around smearing blood on my ship?"

[member="Evangeline Cross"]

 

[Evangeline Cross]

"Who are you?"

Evangeline froze. Her head of dark curls snapped upward from where she had been draped over the side the loading bay, clearly unsuccessful in her attempt to clean the trail of blood that led this hulking figure of a man--and the barrel of his pistol--directly to her hiding spot.

"Why the frak are you running around smearing blood on my ship?"

Silence. Evangeline regarded him like a trapped deer in a thicket, heart pounding beneath her pulsing chest and dusky eyes widening to the shape of almonds as she looked first to the pistol, and then to the would-be hunter. Her eyes narrowed. It was fight or flight.

In one rippling sweep of white robes, the girl sprang from the loading bay with all the dexterity of a small cat. She might have landed on her feet, too, might have even taken off and run, had it not been for that one hitch that had landed her at the wrong end of the man's pistol in the first place--that gimp shoulder.

Evangeline groaned--whimpered, really--thrown off-balance by the unexpected hot flash of pain that seared across the right half of her body. She swayed for a moment, might have even fallen directly into the offending man himself had she not summoned the strength to fall backward instead, landing once more against the sleek side of the Star Yacht. She clutched her shoulder, grimaced, then lifted those thick lashes to regard him with a hard gaze suggestive of someone twice her size.

"My name is Evangeline Cross," She murmured, the cultured intonation of her voice hitting the air like a bell. "And if we don't get inside, I assure you there will be much more blood than this."

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

If she was the prey at the moment, Marcus had no idea what he was. Surely he was no hunter for that role had been filled by the cadre of Mandalorians and thugs that had been trailing her - so the Dreadguard assumed the role of a man just strolling through the middle of the hunt. Plain ignorance, but it was blissful ignorance. It wasn't his place to stand and fight the hunter or to take flight alongside the hunted. Be that as it may, he had about fifty kilos of munitions in a crate sitting right beside everything he'd ever owned.

Not good at all.

"I don't quite care what your name is or where you came from, I just want you to leave so I can get on with what I was doing," he remarked flatly as she leapt from her little spot on the loading ramp before stumbling back against the hull of the Nimbus, smearing blood on it again. "Oh come on! I literally just had this whole thing washed like a week ago!" Marcus was pretty convinced that she was unarmed so he stepped forward to grasp her other shoulder, pulling her away from the faintly bloodied mark on the hull.

Something was whirring behind him and he glanced back to see the droid loading canisters onto his vessel. Good.

"Listen girl, I don't know if you're trying to threaten me or not, but whatever you're doing isn't working. There's a medical clinic like three city blocks down if you wanna get some help." He grimaced and released her shoulder once he figured she was perfectly capable of standing on her own two feet.

"My droid here can give you a ride there if you need it, but I have somewhere to be right now."

[member="Evangeline Cross"]

 

[Evangeline Cross]

“No!” Evangeline nearly barked. Her eyes might have momentarily widened at the sound of her own voice—louder and harsher than usual, even desperate. She cleared her throat and swallowed, nervously glancing over the man’s shoulder before returning to lock her gaze on his face.

“No,” She repeated, but this time her voice had softened into something akin to a plea. She steadied herself under the strong grip of his hand and swayed only once when he released her shoulder. “You don’t understand. I can’t go back out there.”

The scene was a pathetic one, and had Evangeline not been in such a panic, she might have cursed herself for the absurdity of it all. She was a soft thing, but she was not weak.

“Look at me—do I look like a threat to you?” The girl asked, but her tone held no bite. It was a serious question. She outstretched her empty palms. Disheveled robes, tangled crown of hair, crimson stains on that small, wounded arm.

Evangeline might have opened her mouth to explain, if she had the chance. Another voice cut through the air like a blade instead. It was Mandalorian in accent.

“Well, would you look what we have here? I see you’ve found my lost kitten, mate. I’ll be taking her off your hands now.”

[member="Marcus Itera"]

 

[Marcus Itera]

The whole scene was one of desperation. He could see the pleading look on her face even before she forcefully told him that she wasn't going to leave. It nearly made even him cave in, to just drop what he was carrying and give her a little medical attention but these sorts of things didn't involve him anymore. He devoted himself to bigger causes with bigger payrolls, and he didn't really want to attract any sort of attention here on Nar Shaddaa. Being delayed was bad enough as it was.

"Oh?" He lofted a brow before stepping back with a sigh. "I don't know who's a threat or not. For all I know, you could be bait for some thugs, and I-"

The a voice cut in from his right. He hadn't even noticed the armored figure and his pair of comrades approach. Between the dulling work of the droid behind him and the whole bloodied-girl fiasco was enough to narrow his senses, but he couldn't give himself that kind of excuse. Situational awareness was something he prided himself in. Maybe he was getting old.

Marcus took a step away from the girl. "She's yours? Alright. I don't want no trouble, so I'm just gonna load my stuff and go, if you don't mind."

"Everything is loaded now, and I don't think the girl means any harm. Those men are probably going to hurt her."

He dropped his voice to a bare whisper. "I know."

[member="Evangeline Cross"]