REALLY Hates Talking
Myvette raised her blade in a sweeping motion and cut straight through the hoodlum's holdout pistol, his finger still wrapped around the useless trigger. With her golden blade threatening to split his head in two with a mere flick of the wrist the assailant was forced into a dark corner of the alleyway, the Jedi’s weapon the only source of light. “I-I get it! You want to know when the boss is coming to dock r-right…?” Myvette nodded slowly, if she had eyes they’d already be daggers.
“I can tell you but it’ll cost ya.” Myvette stood there for a moment her face blank and her mouth slightly agape as she marveled at the situation. Even with a blade legendary for its power pointed at his throat the man still had the dedication to try and swindle her. It was almost respectable. With the press of a button, Myvette quelled her saber's power and returned it to her belt where the girl's hand caressed the warm hilt. She was never one to threaten others and she certainly wasn’t the most intimidating figure but after having his gun sliced in two with his fingers only being spared by a kindred desire he’d do well to spill the juice, free of charge.
“Sometime this afternoon, not sure when there’s going to be a transport that touches down in the docks. Nothing strange at first glance but if you were to look inside you’d see it.” Myvette’s hand left her saber as she leaned closer. The grifter propped his back against the wall and folded his arms his eyes averting from Myvette. “Crates upon crates of them. Body parts, arms, legs, eyes, disgusting is what it is and nobody really knows where it’s all going. One guy drops it off at the next guy and then he gives it to someone else. The pay’s massive too, biggest haul I’ve ever gotten.”
The way he talks. He’s not just disgusted by the smuggling but he knows something, he can’t fear what he hasn’t already experienced…and his aura…why is it so unbalanced? It’s like he’s been weighed down by his own presence, that’s not possible by normal means.
Pulling the jacket hood over her head, Myvette adjusted her black mask as the man continued his story. “Me and the boys here got wind that some sorcerer was running through the streets in search of exotic cargo. We came here to break a finger or two and…” The man gestured to the pile of thugs scattered on the ground their bodies bruised by otherwise unharmed. “You wanna find your mark. Follow the chain till ya get to the top…but I get the feeling your not gonna live that long.” Myvette just ‘stared’ at the man unimpressed.
“Anyhow.” The vagrant held out his hand toward Myvette and wiggled his fingers expectantly. “I already told you. There’s nothing sweet out here now pay me for that whole spiel!” Now a list of options came to Myvette. She could simply turn and walk away with a word, slap his hand away and dart away, or the least popular: merely pay him for his time. With a sigh, Myvette filled the man’s hand with a stack of credits bidding him farewell before he had the chance to count them. He turned to protest the meager reward but Myvette had already faded into the busy streets of Terminus.
Five minutes later, Myvette was seated in a busy diner with a plate of Blue-Milk pancakes steaming in front of her. As the delicious aroma filled her nostrils a single (non-food related) thought came to her mind.
He was scared. Afraid. His aura was dimming and he was fidgeting like crazy. He has a deeper connection to this whole ordeal than he let on. Taking a bite of the Pancakes, Myvette smiled with glee blue bits of pancake between her teeth. If I can follow this to the top I can figure out who’s behind it and how to stop it. But first…
Myvette reached for a bottle of liquid across the table.
These need some syrup.
Abel Denko
“I can tell you but it’ll cost ya.” Myvette stood there for a moment her face blank and her mouth slightly agape as she marveled at the situation. Even with a blade legendary for its power pointed at his throat the man still had the dedication to try and swindle her. It was almost respectable. With the press of a button, Myvette quelled her saber's power and returned it to her belt where the girl's hand caressed the warm hilt. She was never one to threaten others and she certainly wasn’t the most intimidating figure but after having his gun sliced in two with his fingers only being spared by a kindred desire he’d do well to spill the juice, free of charge.
“Sometime this afternoon, not sure when there’s going to be a transport that touches down in the docks. Nothing strange at first glance but if you were to look inside you’d see it.” Myvette’s hand left her saber as she leaned closer. The grifter propped his back against the wall and folded his arms his eyes averting from Myvette. “Crates upon crates of them. Body parts, arms, legs, eyes, disgusting is what it is and nobody really knows where it’s all going. One guy drops it off at the next guy and then he gives it to someone else. The pay’s massive too, biggest haul I’ve ever gotten.”
The way he talks. He’s not just disgusted by the smuggling but he knows something, he can’t fear what he hasn’t already experienced…and his aura…why is it so unbalanced? It’s like he’s been weighed down by his own presence, that’s not possible by normal means.
Pulling the jacket hood over her head, Myvette adjusted her black mask as the man continued his story. “Me and the boys here got wind that some sorcerer was running through the streets in search of exotic cargo. We came here to break a finger or two and…” The man gestured to the pile of thugs scattered on the ground their bodies bruised by otherwise unharmed. “You wanna find your mark. Follow the chain till ya get to the top…but I get the feeling your not gonna live that long.” Myvette just ‘stared’ at the man unimpressed.
“Anyhow.” The vagrant held out his hand toward Myvette and wiggled his fingers expectantly. “I already told you. There’s nothing sweet out here now pay me for that whole spiel!” Now a list of options came to Myvette. She could simply turn and walk away with a word, slap his hand away and dart away, or the least popular: merely pay him for his time. With a sigh, Myvette filled the man’s hand with a stack of credits bidding him farewell before he had the chance to count them. He turned to protest the meager reward but Myvette had already faded into the busy streets of Terminus.
Five minutes later, Myvette was seated in a busy diner with a plate of Blue-Milk pancakes steaming in front of her. As the delicious aroma filled her nostrils a single (non-food related) thought came to her mind.
He was scared. Afraid. His aura was dimming and he was fidgeting like crazy. He has a deeper connection to this whole ordeal than he let on. Taking a bite of the Pancakes, Myvette smiled with glee blue bits of pancake between her teeth. If I can follow this to the top I can figure out who’s behind it and how to stop it. But first…
Myvette reached for a bottle of liquid across the table.
These need some syrup.
Abel Denko