Coldest Glass Beckons

[Arage Bao]

There were plenty of shadowports throughout the universe, but only one had a special place in his heart and that was StarForge Station.

Deep in the Nebula with the same name, the station was in the heartland of Alliance space. The perfect place from which people could smuggle, sell and buy crap that wasn't legal anywhere sane. After all, its location allowed you to get anywhere you needed in Alliance space without the tight controls and checks of the border regions.

Xian Valart had just unload a batch of slaves from 'Shaddaa, four Wooks, a Twi'lek (frown), couple of humans and a female Mon Cal.

They had fetched a good price and it was time to relax a bit. The next day a new auction would be held, hopefully something interesting would come along. In the meantime? He decided to enjoy StarForge while he could.

StarForge was a delightful mess: chaos, debauchery, blood... it was all there.

No Exchange to keep crap in line, neither any of the other large crime syndicates. Completely controlled by the little gangs and that was that.

Valart wandered into the Lean Nuuti bar, settling himself down by the bar without paying much heed to the whispers. They were always there. Just waiting to share this rumor or that, today it was the rumor of war in their station.

Of gangs deciding they didn't have enough and needed more.

Soon all of them would need to pick a side, the whispers shared in a friendly fashion. But they faded once the glass with rum was put in front of him. There was no whisper in the Galaxy that could stand and gain attention with that cold glass beckoning.

 

[Blackthorne]

"A tree?"

"It fits the description."

"But who buys a tree for a slave?"

"Apparently the last living survivor of Cap-"

If there was one thing you didn't do, you didn't talk about your plans in a place like this. Any plans. Any part of the plans. Not a single syllable. Captain Blackthorne had made this perfectly clear by stabbing her fork through the man's hand and into the table. He was lucky the table wasn't made of wood - it didn't stick in place.

Ihmoen forcefully bit back the yelp and instead let loose a slew of loud swearing that made heads turn, "....fething betch!"

"That's Captain Betch to you..." Blackthorne eased back in her seat, throwing a glance around at all those wandering eyes, "Feth off, like you've never seen a forked Dathomirian before, hehehe..."

The Lean Nuuti slowly filtered back to business as usual with the Captain remarking that her information broker was getting blood all over the establishment.

"Go clean yourself up and check the lots," she tossed her napkin at him.

The red-skinned man glared at her, yanking the fork from his hand and snatching up the cloth to stem the bleeding. His gaze followed the woman as she stood from her seat and moved to lean over him, hissing something in his ear before stalking off towards the bar.

"Water," she said to the bartender as she took a stool one seat to the right of a curiously-marked Twi'lek, "and an order of Ribenes."

[member="Xian Valart"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Blackthorne"]

It wasn't difficult for Xian to passively keep track of the on-goings of the bar.

Sorta like a sixth sense type of deal stemming from a... different type. Back then it paid to be completely aware of everything that was happening around you, back then it could mean the difference between life or death without any form of exaggeration. Valart had lost the jumpy style and the twitch of the shoulders, but there was still the keenness in the eyes, the subtle tilt of the head to just hear a little bit more. Somethings couldn't be unlearned, but somethings... didn't have to be, if they could continue to be useful.

"Messy business, keeping ya people in line." Valart looked over to the lady - not pretty, angles too sharp, but attractive in the way a Tuk'ata could be just before the lunge. The lean of the arms against the counter was loosened as he turned around, letting his hip to the supporting for a moment.

The rum was good, biting, made your tongue sing at least a couple of times.

"But then, wouldn't have to, if they kept from messing up, aye?" No smiles, unless the upward twitch of a corner mouth and baring of bright white teeth counted for one. "Name's Valart, yours?"

First time the Twi'lek had seen this one here, but that didn't have to mean much. The StarForge was a big place, lots of people in and out, steady influx of new ones now with the war between the Alliance and the First Order coming to a grinding halt. There was just something about the end of a war that made people scramble for last-ditch efforts to profit and get rich. Then again, wasn't like Valart hadn't profited himself from the entire shindig.

If a person was careful? Patient? Paid off the right people?

There was a whole scala of bodies to be found on the battlefield.

 

[Blackthorne]

A casual glance and the point of a lifted brow turned the woman near completely on her stool to look at the speaking man. Twi'lek. Not a race she'd had a lot of interaction with, barring that one trip to Zeltros with [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"] and a rather salacious night with a group of very good looking people. Dahl was fairly certain one of them had been a twi'lek but the spice made the memories of that night somewhat blurred and hazy. She peered at the man for several moments, speechless and eyes narrowed in thought.

It may have been the night she'd developed a particular attraction for stripes and hairless men. Who could really say.

"Well nobody's perfect, mate," an off-hand reply interrupted briefly by the arrival of a glass bottle of water, chilled and sweating in the otherwise musky air of the shadowport. Depending on where you went water could be considered top-shelf, though it still made for an usual request from a Pirate.

She poured herself a measure of clear liquid and lifted it for a drink, pausing to glance back at Valart, "Captain Blackthorne, cheers."

 

[Arage Bao]

The order of water didn't draw much in the way of confusion, but it was noted.

Not that Valart minded one way or another- people should drink what they wanted and right now the Twi'lek could use a measure of merriment after selling another host of bodies to their collective fates. What those could be? He couldn't truly say, unlike others Xian didn't really bother trying to figure out their fates.

Didn't read up on the buyers or anything like that.

As long as the background check passed and the buyers could afford the deal? That was enough for him.

The cheers was repaid by a slow lift of his own rum, before tipping a measure of it down the way of the tongue. A swallow, slight pinch of the eyes as it bit, but in a good way, then the large Twi'lek shrugged.

"What brings ya to StarForge then, Cap'?" Didn't smell like a slaver, didn't move like one either, but that didn't have to mean all that much. After all, it wasn't branded in his forehead either, so there was that. Possibly a smuggler. More likely a pirate though, simply because of the way her shoulders bend.

It spoke of a strength that smugglers usually didn't possess.

"Signing on new crew?" Valart wasn't dangling here, but a little bit of small talk could reveal a host of things.

 

[Blackthorne]

"No," replied the Captain as her order of Ribenes arrived, "just passing through." She tossed a payment of credit chips on the counter and went to town on her meal, pearly fangs flashing. No further conversation was offered while she ate - a testament to how well she and [member="Aver Brand"] got along at meal time. All other things came second to food, but food could come in the form of many different things.

Today it happened to be a plate of demolished ribenes. When the bones were clean she washed it down with another deep drink, pouring out the rest of her bottle into the glass.

"Your markings," said the woman then once her plate was taken away - eyeing the bones that she would have crunched on and sucked the marrow from as they walked away, "they're unusual. Never seen a twi'lek with stripes like that before."

 

[Arage Bao]

He didn't watch her eat.

Instead he shifted away, putting his back to the counter and his focus on the bustle of the bar. In fact the Twi'lek figured their conversation was over. Which was fine with him, exchange a few words, get a measure, move on again. Sometimes there was more, sometimes there was even less, but throughout it all there was no need to make more out of it than it was.

"Mhm?" His attention slowly shifted back to her. "Got 'em at birth, rare genetic thing that basically branded me as the chosen one of my village on Ryloth."

A snort followed next.

"Nah, got branded with them by a particularly cruel owner. He was heavily into the occult and thought it would look 'cool'."

Xian wasn't really bothered by it anymore.

The brands were a part of him, but he didn't mention the tattoos were infused with... less than comfortable ingredients. Like blood from other sentients, all that crap.

"Does make me one-of-a-kind, I suppose."

 

[Blackthorne]

"Nothing wrong with being special," replied the woman as she produced from her jacket a tin of ... not cigarettes, but something similar, and sparked one up. The smoke produced had a curious purple hue to it and a cool, almost minty aroma. Definitely some kind of plant-based smoke, if the sting of it on the eyes and nose was any indication.

Blackthorne held in a pull and felt the fog permeate her lungs the way cold rain chilled hot skin. It filtered into her eyes and settled over that acidic green a murky haze like morning mists over a wild jungle.

"Where I come from," said the woman, roiling clouds of violet pouring out from her fangs, "we call that ritualistic marking to denote all of life's many trials and tribulations, good and bad."

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Blackthorne"]

His outward attention shifted, but Xian kept on listening before inclining his head in understanding.

"They are part of me, I do not live in fear of them." Not anymore anyway. A shrug followed next very soon. "Where is it that you come from then?" The Twi'lek had seen many worlds, systems, the Galaxy was not unknown to him. It couldn't truly be different, not when you were forced to travel, not when you changed hands more often than pocket change was relayed around through the branches of commerce.

But Blackthorne was difficult to place.

Then again- more likely than not the woman was purposefully obfuscating, to make it that more difficult. That is what Xian would have done... if his heritage wasn't so painfully obvious anyway.

He eyed the smoke, purple, hazy.

A sniff produced a polite, if coarse cough.

 

[Blackthorne]

The cough was decidedly ignored and the Pirate continued enjoying her habit. The smoke was not blown in his general direction, however - something called passive aggressive manners.

"A jungle planet filled with beasts and monsters."

Getting specific with a total stranger wasn't her idea of a smart move, but Blackthorne liked conversation with interesting people and there was no lack of interesting in this person.

"There's some pretty cool creatures there too..." the woman smirked and ashed her Sten on the floor.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Blackthorne"]

"A friend of mine is a hunter, she spends her time traveling planet to planet, hunting one beast or the other- measuring her skill against their strength." He shook his head bemusedly. "Just the other week she send me the skull of a Krayt Dragon she apparently hunted down on Tatooine."

"Damn thing didn't even fit in my house, so it's languishing in a storage facility for now."

Valart took another sip from his glass, sizing up his drinking companion in the meantime. Why was it that every time their eyes met the Twi'lek felt like being on the cutting board for a pound of meat?

Lady seemed like a killer or at least a natural warrior.

"What kind of cool animals are out there then, 'Cap?" Xian asked, before his attention was snapped up by a new arrival in the bar- for the most part the wounded Ithorian wasn't getting a lot of attention. People never really gave their attention, unless they were directly impacted on this Shadowport. After all, it could mean the difference between life and death, and most thugs really enjoyed having their skin right where it belonged.

Scarred skin, one protruding eye blind from a scar running deep through it and staring unseeing, while the other eyeballed every single corner before waggling along to the bar.

He ended up next to them without paying them heed.

"Double one, 'keep, bloody mess out there." The soft rumble of the Ithorian sounded- arms thick with muscle and scars, currently clutching one of 'em as it dragged along uselessly. "Oya? What's happening?" The bartender inquired politely while cleaning out one of the glasses in preparation of being filled.

"Fecking idiots popped it off in the middle of the square, now the Bloodshots and the Bruisers are in a stand-off with every useless choffer staring slack-jawed with their prick in their hands."

 

[Blackthorne]

A friend of mine is a hunter,

"Oh yeah?" this grew a smile on the woman's face, turning her towards him fully to listen. If there was one thing she could appreciate it was a good hunting story. And a Krayt dragon skull too big to fit in the house. Impressive.

"Imagine the size of the pearl..." a side comment, "that skull would fetch a pretty credit on the right market."

She could find the right market. There were all sorts of high-brows that shopped the Black Streets for unique curios. Krayt was expensive, she knew because she now owned Blackthorne Beastiary. They charged nearly four arms and six legs just to deliver on pearls. Good business.

"Oh, well, can't tell you that -" the woman sneered toothily through the faint purple haze, fangs glinting, green eyes following his shift of attention to the wounded Ithorian. His muttered stereophonic words were not difficult for her heightened sense of hearing to pick up. Strange, weren't Ithorian's usually peaceful fellows?

Captain. Words in her head - more correctly in her ear. Blackthorne lifted her free hand to the stud piercing. We got trouble. Fight in the main deck has spilled into the docks. It's a bloody hot mess down here.

"Is the ship resupplied? Crew on board?" she murmured to herself.

Affirmative.

"Pull out and leave station orbit. We're not part of this."

What about you?

"I'll find my own ride..." green eyes slithered back to the twi'lek, a strange mirth simmering in radioactive acid, "lefty or righty?"

 

[Arage Bao]

Xian was making his own mental calculations in the meantime.

There were two options here: get out or get out, so really just one option. Because just as [member="Blackthorne"] - oh, yes, the Twi'lek was listening softly with one-earhole - this wasn't his fight nor his place to get involved. Maybe if it had been his port? But it wasn't, it was just a pleasant go-in-between and there was not a single thing on this station that would make it worth for him to stick around and throw his sword with one crew or the other.

After all, chances were it would be the wrong crew and the port would be closed for him until they got themselves murdered as well.

"Both," The slaver responded absent-mindedly, while squeezing the pommel of his blast-sword. Used to be a lefty. But there was something about being beaten 'til the edge of your life, to force you to write and use your right hand... to make you very accommodating with learning.

"Guess I got a place on my ship, need you for that Krayt skull, eh?"

The Twi'lek pushed himself off his seat and dropped a credit chit on the table, enough to cover for his expenses. Just his expenses though. Valart had never been a charmer or anything like that, she was pretty enough, but spending cash on anyone other than himself wasn't in his character. Would have been disrespectful from his point of view: after all, it implied that the other side wasn't competent enough to get enough money for themselves.

He waited for her to pay and then walked to the door, then out the door.

It was a gorram mess out there.

Two districts down there were fires - fires on a gorram station, great - but their immediate surroundings were clear for now.

 

[Blackthorne]

She wasn't paying while he waited, she was finishing off her water. Couldn't just leave that aqua fina there to dry up. Had to stay hydrated, who knew what sort of trouble she'd be in. The empty glass slid down the bar to the tender and when he looked at her she was prepping her own blaster.

"Time for last call, mate."

"There's a back door-" he offered, swinging his arm towards the back.

"Then use it," she turned and followed after the twi'lek, blaster whining with a fresh energy cell as they stepped out the door. Her green eyes searched the causeway, passing quickly through throngs of retreating people. Fires burned in the distance.

"Which way to the slave auction?" Blackthorne glanced to the man, "I'll make it worth your while."

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Blackthorne"]

Disruptor blaster in its holster on one side, a blast-sword on the other, but what Xian wanted right now was some gorram armor and maybe a helmet. It was all bloody and fine to enter a brawl with only your fists and hopefully a tankard or two, but warfare in the streets? Man could get himself killed without ever seeing it coming for him.

"Slave auction?" He looked back at her, then squinted to the left of them. Large promenade with already a speeder on fire, with a bunch of arseholes jumping up and down on a shop counter.

"Thataway, 'Cap." Didn't cost him much to stretch. Bones creaked, muscles whined and rolled beneath purple tainted skin. "We'd be breaking through 'bout four different gangs and their territories, getting there though."

Which wasn't a huge issue when there was peace.

Big sword, bigger gun? They left ya alone just fine, but this was a different animal. Reputation meant jack when they shot before looking who they shootin. But this was more for her education than for him, if she paid? Xian had no issue cracking some skulls, been a while since he had last been in a good old-fashioned scrap anyway.

No gorram helmet.

"You still keen on going?"

 

[Blackthorne]

She was already walking in the indicated direction before he could even ask. Yes, yes she was very keen and she was also clearly not a lick worried about the gangs. There were far worse things to face in this galaxy than a bunch of drunk, doped up, pissy goons playing at sandbox warfare. This place was a playground compared to Point Nadir but she supposed that's what you got when you stuck it in the middle of Alliance space.

If Auntie [member="Aver Brand"] were here she would have snorted and rolled her eyes at the man's trepidation, though she may have agreed on favoring a full set of armor for such encounters. She did like her armor, but Dahl was her mother's daughter; no definable fear to be seen.

No helmet? No sweat. Just don't stop moving.

"Let's go Krayt, we have a pressing need to get there before the auction ends."

PEW PEW PEW she railed off three shots to an incoming speederbike and its raving rider. The tank exploded and sent it careening through the air. Blackthorne ducked out of the way as it sailed past and picked up the downed rider's rifle with a casual grab, swinging the strap over her shoulder.

 

[Arage Bao]

The Twi'lek didn't even blink.

Lady was keen on it and that was the end of the story. Guy didn't even bother to figure out why, what would the point of that be? She was paying for his sword - speaking of, it flashed white as the rays of light bounced off it in the middle of a swipe. It cut straight through, heavy and firm, a head as a goon climbed out of the burning speeder wreckage.

"Your money, 'Cap" Xian mumbled as he parried the stock of a rifle, then kicked the thug in the chest, before finishing him off with the blast of his sword.

Just a thrust upward, stabbing through him lightly, before the press of a finger against its hilt caused a spontaneous plasma eruption in the middle of his chest region. Not pleasant, not pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. He ducked, catching a blaster bolt against the thick leather of his jacket, good thing it had been insulated with shell spider silk.

"Right, there," Xian gestured with his head. "Alleyway in, then up the ladder."

Wasn't exactly how they usually traveled to the slave market, but it was faster and somehow the Twi'lek doubted they would get in more trouble than they already were.

 

[Blackthorne]

"Not mine," she replied over a cacophony of blaster bolts raining in their direction. Blackthorne ducked behind one of the few speeders on the causeway not yet set ablaze and peeked out from cover to spy a group of about a dozen men heading down the lane. One of them had a grenade launcher and was tossing blasties like candy at a parade. The street quaked and rumbled. Fething idiots.

The Pirate swapped out for the rifle and peered through the scope, aiming first at the man's head and then tipping upwards. She fired off a shot at a chain holding a large illuminated sign for a nightclub. It sparked, blew, and dropped like a stone on top of the grenadier and three of his goons. The others scattered, blaring off shots in every direction. She glanced back to spy him just as he stabbed the unfortunate fether and gave him a new lung cavity to breathe out of.

"Someone else always pays for my troubles."

"Right, there," Xian gestured with his head. "Alleyway in, then up the ladder."

Oh goodie, ladders.

Shouldering the rifle she set off for the alleyway and ducked inside, narrowly missing a stray bolt. Blackthorne jogged down the narrow, green eyes flickering through the darkness for the ladder to find the bottom half of it missing. Closest intact rung was nearly three stories up. The woman took a step back, eyeing the walls at either side of her, sizing up the distance in much the same manner a cat would while prepping to jump up to an impossibly high platform.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Blackthorne"]

"Someone else always pays for my troubles."

Xian snorted, "Sounds like a good deal... for you." They found their way to the alley - dank, filth clinging to the walls and the garbage overflowing their cans, but the tight corridor subdued some of the noises of combat. Not for long, of course, already Valart could make out the running scratches of boots against metal. They were coming and if the both of them got stuck here, it would be like a gorram funnel.

With plasma bolts ringing against their backs and no place to leave.

"Looks like crap, the ladder, but it will cut our time by-"

Blackthorne jumped.

The Twi'lek blinked, once, twice, mouth slightly ajar and left gaping. What the kark, before Xian got a hold of himself and followed suit just as she snatched up to the last parts of the ladder and disappeared over the edge. He moved quickly, calloused hands uncaring about the rough texture and the dirt.

A blaster bolt hit right next to him, breaking off duracrete and sending shards burning past his skin.

He cursed, but managed to scramble up and over the edge as well, before something hit his back. "Help me with this," Xian snarled to her, before letting loose a blast from his sword against the duracrete, where the ladder connected.

That way the posse would have to circle around, before they got here.

The promenade was large, spacious, also a complete wreck with the slave bazaar on the other side. It was fortified, reinforced doors closed shut and denying anyone obvious entry. Which wasn't a surprise to him - the slavers had this portion of the station locked down tight.

Not even riots could stop their profit.... but why were some of the viewports aflame, like there was fire inside?

 

[Blackthorne]

Help she did - all he had to do was snarl.

Three bolts square to the blocks upon which the makeshift ladder clung sent what was left of it tumbling down the side and into the alley. No one would be going that way for a while. Deed done she turned to face the open expanse of the promenade - relatively clear of the riots it seemed, as though they had already burned their way through en route to the lower levels. She picked up an easy lope across the duracrete walkway, footfalls echoing off the shells of store fronts victimized by the chaos.

A turned over speeder here.

Burning dumpster there.

Bodies. Several bodies.

Struck her as odd that this place would be so quiet but she thought she heard the thrumming of something mechanical in the distance echoing up from the way they came.

Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. The ground beneath their feet vibrated but it was difficult to say if it was from the explosions on the lower levels or something else entirely.

"What else is on this level...?"

Weapon and Ammunitions Bazaar on the other end, apparently.

They reached the entry doors of the Slave Auction Hall to find them excessively unresponsive to brute force. Heavy doors. Damn. She could have implemented some esoteric powers here but that was both time and energy consuming. Had to be a better way.

Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

A massive shadow skulked around the bend at the far end of the promenade. It gleamed like molten metal in the light of the lower level fires. Dozens of smaller shadows filed in on its heels.

"What the feth is that."

Something suddenly came hurtling in their direction - slim, gleaming, and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.