An Unlikely Pair

[Zechariah]

Tattooine, Mos Eisley.

"Such a disgusting planet." Zechariah said spitting at the ground as he walked through a busy market. Zech sighed, he was only on the planet because it was where he picked up the payment for his last assassination. He shook his head slightly letting out a small chuckle. It was easy work, being an assassin that is. It was a matter of slipping some poison into a drink. Nothing too hard.



As he walked, many people were eyeing him down. He didn't care much though, he never really did. The Energy Vampire smirked as he walked past a stall that was selling Pallie. Reaching down he would take the fruit from the basket and take a bite. The vendor looked at Zechariah with anger in his eyes. "You have to pay for that you know." The man said anger in his voice.

A look of pure disgust would wash over his face as he spit the fruit out and tossed the rest on the ground. He looked to the vendor and glared. "Nope, didn't taste that good anyway." Zech said nonchalantly as he shoved his hands in his pocket and walked away, ignoring the man's shouting.

Zechariah cringed. It had been a bit since he'd drained the life force out of anyone. Well one night, but it was still enough to make the man antsy. His senses were flaring making it hard to think. As he walked past a vendor, he nearly threw up, the smell of the friend meat was nearly loo much for Zech. Shaking his head, trying to clear it, the man would stumble into a cantina. Quickly making his way to an empty seat at the bar and ignoring the dirty looks from patrons. "You're definitely out of place here...leave." the bartender said.

Zechariah glared. "Shut it. Give me a shot of Corellian Whiskey. Now." The Energy Vampire growled. The bartender shook his head but made the drink and spit in it before handing it to Zechariah. The Energy Vampire looked at it for a second then smiled wickedly.

"My my...such good service." Zech said with a unsettling grin. He placed the full shot on the countertop then listened to the band. His senses were still flaring but it helped being inside, he sat silently focusing on the music.

[member="MSA"]

((For his appearance look at my character sheet. Click biography under my profile pic))

 

[MSA]

Mos Eisley; Tatooine

Darkness.... it was as much an enemy to Mythos as it was an ally, the shadows of the hidden alleys and corners hiding his monstrous and towering form much like the mask that adorned his face. But the darkness of sentience, the darkness of the heart... that was what Mythos feared the most. How any being could ever let it sweep them up and away within its tangled web of self deceit and false bolstering? Mythos wouldn't and couldn't ever understand personally. For some, as the saying goes, only the strong survive. But for the towering Shistavanen, it seemed to make more sense that the strong protect the weak so that as a whole, they all grew stronger. Or so had been his own personal experience when he was but a runt of a whelp. But such was the nature of the heart, and even his mere size provoked even the most fearless to find the hidden darkness of fear, and the mask he hid behind only lessened the blow for those less fortunate to truly see what laid beneath.

Tilting his head to the sky, Mythos sniffed the putrid air that lingered about, a constant mixture of fragrance, iron, dust, and rancid. But despite that many scents that tantalize the completeness of Mos Eisley, the scent of his prey still stood out like that of an electrum hilt upon a Jedi's hip. A mangled smile crept up beneath the mask that hid the Shistavaven's features, a smile that revealed fangs and mimicked a snarling grimace. Stepping from the shadows of the back alleys as he pulled tightly upon his gauntlets, Mythos keep a keen nose upon his target.

His job was a simple one, dredged up from the darkened web of the holonet where bounties, assassinations, and the likes laid hidden. He didn't have much to go on, a blurred still of a crimson haired assassin leaving the scene, and after visiting the company who hired him, a scent that was left upon the clothes he likely used to infiltrate the compound where a certain noble had been recently poisoned. What had brought him here though, to this desolate backwater planet, however, was a theory of certain competition possibly being behind it, and after asking around a bit, Mythos caught wind of the assassin's scent. He had to admit his target was good, but nothing had ever escaped his nose. And now, before him, stood his target's chosen drinking hole.

The door slid open with a hiss as the towering giant bent his neck down upon entering as the sand from outside drifted in behind him. Standing upright again, he sniffed again before gazing around the cantina and gauging the patrons as his eyes adjusted to the darkness once again and he made his way toward the bar. The seat squealed as it bent beneath his weight, but Mythos paid no mind as he tossed a cred-stick upon the counter and in a grumbled and almost gargling voiced spoke. "One Tarisian Ale" Mythos's other gauntleted hand tossing a set of stun-cuffs in front of the crimson haired fellow (Zechariah) beside him. "Don't suppose you'll come quietly?