Another town, another place.

[Van Rolark]

With a sigh, he quickly tossed back the flask, grimacing as he took a swig of bourbon. Another night. Alone. His knuckles went white with desire as he slowly popped open the door of his speeder, leaping out onto the soaked sidewalk, the frigid rain slowly creeping into the cracks.

Slipping a hand into his pocket, he removed a blue pack of cigarettes, labeled 'Spacer Reds', designed with elegant, cursive writing and an image of a star destroyer. Plucking a cigarette from the pack, he brought it to his lips, quickly flipping open the lid of his silver zippo lighter.

Firing up the lighter, he held the flame up to the tip of the filtered cigarette, watching as the tobacco proceeded to ignite, producing a thick cloud of white smoke that gravitated to his right, due to the mellow midnight breeze.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he slowly took a step towards the supposedly abandon warehouse in front of him, adjusting the collar of his yellow trench coat as he walked. He was currently investigating the disappearance of several men and women, and had just received an anonymous tip.

This was it, he felt it. His blood ran cold as he examined the entrance of the warehouse; a single, wooden door.

Gripping onto the brass doorknob, he turned it slightly, but his attempt was in vain. The door was locked, and despite the several kicks the private investigator had sent into the door, it would not budge. With a sigh of defeat, he slowly reached into the inside of his trench coat, producing a simple slugthrower revolver from his shoulder holster.

[member="Darth Ferus"]

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

The spice trade was a dangerous business. Zandra knew that. So how did she get herself involved in this nonsense? Taking captives? Hostages? That wasn't what she was in for. She may be dirt, but not that kind of dirt. Not the kind that plucked people from their homes just to see how much their families would pay. Nah. That wasn't her scene. Zandra just wanted spice in her veins. She wanted to...

"Kark it," she sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette as she crouched down low next to one of the hostages, a twi'lek woman with pretty teal skin. "I didn' sign up fer this, ya know."

She was supposed to keep an eye on them while her 'boss' went to make a trade. She hated this. Acting the part of a simple grunt. Still, she got her share of the profits. And one hell of a deal on spice. But this? This was getting out of hand. It was one thing beating people when they owed you credits. But these people? They were so random. Not involved in the least.
The Twi'lek blinked at her trying to say something, but the gag prevented her.

"Shhh.... You'll stay quiet if ya know what's good fer ya."

The Echani produced a knife, causing the Twi'lek to go into a panic. She rolled her eyes and in one swift motion...
Cut the rope that had the woman tied down.

"Get outta here," she sighed, "And keep yer mouth shut about this, or I will make sure you never speak again, got it?"

The twi'lek gave a silent nod, mouthed the words 'thank you', and ran out the back. Zandra took another long drag, looking over the crates piled high in the middle of the warehouse. Where the other hostages were being kept, she could only guess. That wasn't really her problem. She was only obligated to free this one. The woman she was put in charge of watching over. Even thieves had honor. Kind of.

"Now to get this to my ship..."

She walked over the the crates and sniffed. Oh yes. That was the good stuff. Glitterstim. She could smell it. She grinned. Well, she was a pirate after all. The boss should have known better than to hire a known pirate. Steal from the rich and give to the, well, herself. That was her motto. She bend over to lift one of the crates when a pounding at the door made her straighten up. Had the Boss come back?
Nah. He knew the code. That meant...

"Sith spit," she swore, pulling a knife out of her holster, "Just when I was about to make my grand exit..."

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

Slipping around to the left side of the building, he remained completely silent. He knew if this went bad the police would show up at any moment, which if that happened, he might as well just hand over the case to the local police department right now. Raising his slugthrower, he pulled the hammer back on the single action revolver, and quickly leaned up against the side of the building. Taking the cigarette in between his index and middle finger, he tossed the cigarette on the ground, quickly extinguishing it with his boot. Adjusting his dark fedora, he quickly jogged down the side of the building.

Taking a right, he stopped, staring directly at the backdoor. With a sigh, he slowly proceeded to kneel in the mud, quickly sliding his revolver back into the holster which was concealed by his trench coat. He leaned closer, finding it difficult to see on this dark night. Leaning down further into the mud, he noticed something. Footprints.

Quickly, he hopped to his feet, unholstering his revolver, and spinning over to his right, facing in the direction of the back door. Creating a hypothesis in his head, he jumped to two possible conclusions. Either the criminal had escaped due to the P.I.'s foolish knocking, or...he didn't know. He did not have a damn idea, but he quickly gripped onto the doorknob of the back door, pulling it open.

Stepping inside, he found it incredibly difficult to see. As he took several steps forward, he muttered profanity under his breath, before quickly ramming his ribs into the side of a large, metal shelf, resulting in a sickening crack as he fell to his knees, nearly shouting, alerting anyone inside of the warehouse to his whereabouts. "Ah...hell." , he muttered, quickly pulling himself to his feet and ducking behind a large crate.

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

Oh! There it was! Zandra grinned again, snuffing her cigarette out on her cold metal cybernetic hand. She flipped her knife around, point facing towards her wrist. Silent as snowfall, she tip toed to the sound of the intruder. She was really itching to slice a throat tonight, and this guy was doing her a huge favor. Thank goodness for the cover of darkness too. All the warehouse had was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling just above the crates.

She hummed, a slow tune. Her favorite song. It was what she sang on stage every third week of the month at Cantina Nameless on Coruscant. A song about love and loss. Oh, she knew she was alerting her target to her presence. She knew. But Zandra was all about a fair fight. If she was gunna kill 'im, she was going to make it enjoyable.

Her voice echoed through the dark warehouse. Eerie. Unsettling. Like the song of a siren.
A warning.

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]

He slowly placed his revolver on the cold, concrete floor, his breathing heavy as he clutched his ribs in agony. "Ah' lord. Oh kark. Dammit. Son of a shutta. I-" His sentence of nothing but strung together profanity came to a halt, as he heard the unnerving tune. His eyes went wide as he quickly snatched up his revolver, hauling himself to his feet. Limping out from behind the crate, he pointed his revolver in the direction of the humming.

With a snarl from Hell, he proceeded to bark, well-aware that this was a possibly fatal move:

"Who the kark are you?! Surrender now and I wont have to put a slug in yer' skull!" He hollered into the darkness, slowly taking a step forward, sweat dripping from his forehead as he muttered to himself, nearly on the edge of panicking. "I-...I really don't wanna have to shoot ya', man!" He yelped, fear in his tone.

With one hand on his ribs, he held his slugthrower up in his left hand, his hand twitching and shaking as he struggled to hold the slugthrower straight.

"WHO. ARE. YOU!?"

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

She could almost taste the fear. It was... exhilarating. And at the same time, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But when the fly wandered into the spiders web, it was not the spiders fault that it had to eat it. Through an open window, a beam of moonlight shone through, catching the glittering dust that floated through the air. Still humming her sweet, sweet melody, Zandra stepped into the light.

"You know this song?" she asked, tossing her wild white hair over her shoulder. She examined her knife absently, flashing her sharp white teeth in a grin. "It's my absolute favorite. It's called Goodbye, Originally written and sung by Miss Lala White. I always liked her music. Such passion..."

She only now seemed to notice the slugthrower shakily aimed at her. She tilted her head to the side.

"Ya know... before ya can wanderin' in here, I was about to make my biggest catch yet. But... You just haaad to spoil it, din'cha? Get involved. Real pain in my ass..."

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

He quickly took a step back after the woman proceeded to step into the light. He watched in silence, listening to the woman patiently. Slowly, he lowered his weapon for a second and began to speak. "Huh. That's certainly interestin'.Anywhooo, I'm gonna assume yer' the one who kidnapped those people...or I just happened to wander into the residence of a rambling, bumbling psychopath."

He stared at the woman, shaking his head. "So...You're gonna kill me, huh?" He asked, raising his slugthrower, pointing the firearm in the direction of the woman.

(Sorry for the short post!)

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

The Echani pretended not to hear him. Not until he asked if she was going to kill him. She snorted at that.

"Kill you? Well... alright. Yes. That is the plan, unless I change my mind."

She shrugged, a half smile on her face. She was really starting to feel sorry for him. He looks so scared. Like he might just wet himself at any moment. If he did that, she might honestly have to just let him pass. She couldn't beat on someone who wet himself. Not only was it gross, but that sort of loser just needed to be left alone.

"Tell ya what," she said raising her hands above her head in mock surrender, "Since I'm fair, I'll give ya one shot. Shoot me down. Kill me. Or it'll be curtains for you, buddy."

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

He stared at her blankly, shaking his head. "Nope. Where are the hostages?" He asked, sweat dripping down his forehead. He slowly proceeded to slide his revolver back into his shoulder holster, clearing his throat. "I don't wanna have to kill ya'. I really don't. That'll just lead to more problems. How about this...I take back the hostages, and the police wont hear a damn thing about this...conversation. Yeah?"

He asked, realizing the fate of the hostages possibly lied in his hands. While he was still visibly frightened, he could not allow these hostages to perish if he had an opportunity to prevent their deaths.

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

...Huh?
The Echani tilted her head to the side, more confused than she could rightly remember ever being. Hostages? She was somewhere between laughing at this weird misunderstanding, and cutting him to ribbons for wasting her time.

"The hostages are gone," she answered with a light shrug, "I let 'em go before ya got 'ere. I ain't exactly a people person. They were annoying."

So there. Problem solved. For both of them. If she wanted, she could tell him to scram, let him go, grab what she could and hope it was enough to make up for the trouble. But the thing was, he'd just put the Echani into a terrible temper. He'd wasted her time, made her miss out on the score of the century. And she was feeling a bit tense. Her finger tips itches. It had been so long. Too long. She missed it. Not murder, of course. Zandra didn't do murder. She only killed people who could defend themselves. But man, there was nothing like feeling a neck snap under your fingers.

"...But, you still messed with the wrong woman, buddy."

She didn't say anything more. She moved in swift as a shadow, knife aimed for his shoulder.

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

His face was gaunt, his eyes were weary, his shirt was soaked in sweat. He slowly raised his revolver once again, but was quickly interuppted as he felt the piercing pain in his shoulder. Shouting in agony, he stumbled back, the sound of his shouting muffling the sound of his firearm smacking against the concrete floor.

Stumbling backwards and out of the light, he quickly leaped behind a shelf, falling to his knees as he clutched his wound, muttering to himself. He looked around nervously, slowly slipping a hand into his pocket, removing a pack of Spacer Reds. Flipping open the top of the pack, he produced a cigarette, plucking it from the pack and bringing it to his lips.

Quickly, he removed his zippo lighter, quickly flipping open the lid with his thumb, striking the wheel with his thumb, resulting in sparks flying up. Hitting the wheel once again, he held the flame up to the tip of the cigarette, igniting the tobacco.

Drawing in the cloud of smoke, he climbed to his feet, leaving the lid of the Zippo open. "KARK YOU!" He shouted, blindly tossing the still lit Zippo in the direction he predicted a stack of wooden crates would be. While he realized it was unlikely that the flame would ignite the wood, it was better than simply sitting there, allowing the woman to take his life.

Taking one quick puff from the cigarette, he quickly dropped the cigarette on the concrete floor, not bothering to extinguish it as he quickly jogged over to another shelf, quickly falling to his knees, sitting in silence as the blood from his shoulder dripped down his arm.

"WE CAN NEGOTIATE, YOU PSYCHOTIC SHUTTA!"

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]

 

[Zandra Tal'verda]

Just as quickly as she attacked, Zandra disappeared once more into the shadows. She liked this game. It was like... flirting, almost. She was starting to really get a sense of what this guy was really like. He looked so tough, but inside he really was...
A sensitive flower.

She watched him light a cigarette, throw the lighter. It wasn't going to catch though. The wood was too damp. This whole building was too damn damp.

"Negotiate?" she cackled, sliding her finger up her knife, "Nah. I don' negotiate with dead men."

She took his position in, the distance. In her head, she was doing the calculations, although she didn't even realize she was doing it. She raised a knife and threw it, point forward at her target.

[member="Van Rolark"]

 

[Van Rolark]

He sat up against the shelf, breathing heavily. Slowly, he cleared his voice, removing his fedora for a moment. "So, there's this guy. Ya' understand? And...He's tired of using the same spice and tryin' to hide it from his wife.. So his friend says to him, 'Hey, why don't you smoke how the Correlians smoke?' So he says, 'Well, how do the Correlians smoke?' And the guy says: 'Well, the Correlians. First, they get some rolling papers. Then they take off, read some 'Spacer Aficionado' and then come back and roll up the spice, right? Then they leave, come back and light the spice and then they go out and contemplate the quality of the spice.

So now, the guy goes back home and starts smoking some spice. So, he smokes for a little bit then stops, he goes out of the room and reads 'Spacer Aficionado.' Then he goes back in, starts smoking spice again while trying to conceal it from his wife in the middle of the night, while getting intimate. He says: 'Excuse me for a minute, honey'. Then, he goes out and smokes a cigarette. Now, his wife is getting sore now and he comes back in and he starts going again, and he starts to leave again to go and leave the room. She looks at him and goes: 'Hey! What's a matter with ya'!? You're smokin' just like a Correlian!"

Suddenly, the Private Investigator burst into laughter, almost becoming a cackle. Attempting to speak, through his laughter, he proceeded to speak: "Hah! Oh...Jesus! T-t-that's...t-that's funny!" He said, before his attempts at speaking were in vain as his belly laugh prevented him from uttering a word.

[member="Zandra Tal'verda"]