Connections: Roving Market [Open to All]

[Gevaisa Rha]

The roving market had opened at dusk on Tatooine, spilling a jumble of brightly dyed tents and shouting merchants across the middle of the Lowland Basin. Jawas scurried by underfoot, vendors sang out about their wares and services, droids and caged flesh-and-blood creatures whirred and whined and clicked and chirped, and the odors from a dozen species’ culinary offerings mingled with the oily smoke wafting from torches and coloured lanterns.

Sentients moved freely through this open-air setting, and they talked freely, sold freely and shopped freely without the usual concern for prying eyes and ears. It was not regulated or certified like a galactic auction house, and neither buyers nor sellers had the protections they would have enjoyed from more regulated commerce; if not a black market, it might have been a rather grey one, and let the buyer beware. Whenever authorities attempted to restrict or regulate the roving market’s traffic, its merchants simply packed up and reappeared the next evening with a trade beacon set somewhere else halfway across the planet, or on another planet altogether.

It was the sort of place one could find almost anything… particularly connections with other sentients.

--------------------​

Gevaisa sat at a quiet cafe on the outskirts of the market, watching the flow of the crowd from underneath a rough green cloth shade. Before her, on a little folding table, lay a momentarily ignored datapad and a nearly empty glass. There was a rodian selling “antiques” from a tattered blue tent across the way, and that was the sort of thing she came here for.

Her lekku twitched with muted discomfort; it was suddenly quite noisy in the little cafe. There was a commotion a few tables away where two humans had been arguing loudly with another and were now leaving in a huff. The twi’lek’s bluegreen eyes followed the pair as they stalked stormily past her table, their mouths firmly pressed shut, scowling, self-righteous anger worn in every line of their body. That anger seemed to bleed off of them in a writhing mass to cloud about her, and she felt herself rising from her chair, fists clenched, to --

Burning stars, what am I doing? Gevaisa asked herself silently.

Cool reason struggled with the anger she’d unknowingly but empathically drawn to herself; reason struggled and won. The twi’lek took a deep breath, sat back down, picked up her drink and looked bemusedly at the glass as though it was the cause of her sudden and irrational bad mood.

“...I think I'd best switch to water,” Gevaisa told herself aloud.

--------------------

((The setting is for story purposes only and is open to anyone who is looking for random/social RP or IC run-ins, with [member=Basaba Willamina], [member=Chee Saren], [member=D-Man], [member=Enigma], [member=Saevio], [member=Veino Garn], and [member=Vereaux] tagged as potentially interested))​

 

[Onrai]

[member="Gevaisa Rha"]

"You don't need water." A seemingly human woman stepped up, eying the carrot Twi'lek over with a sultry glare before turning a bit more serious. "I'm actually quite sincere... Water isn't what you need to best dilute the horribly acidic alcohol." She motioned to the bartender for a teabag, which she dipped into some steaming water. "Ginger tea's your best option. The alkalinity will definitely help counterbalance the acidic quantities of the alcohol in the drinks you've had."

The last thing she needed was any sort of temptation. She didn't like seeing unsober people.

 

[Veino Garn]

Veino kicked back in his chair, enjoying the cool freshness of a lukewarm thing of up identifiable tea. These places always were a little risky when it came to food and drink. The tea was halfway decent though, and he relaxed, letting the sun soak his body in warm, relaxing, radiation. Then the humans started arguing, and their anger crashed against his emotional walls like proton torpedoes against a certain super-weapon's core reactor. He tipped backwards, but caught himself on the edge of the table, noticing a Twi'lek begin to rise, echoing the two's anger, and then sit down, confused.

He certainly wasn't the only one here with some empathy that exceeded normal levels. She appeared to be just as unprepared forth at outburst as he was as well.

 

[Sorin Vanado]

Tatooine...if it wasn't hot, it was sandy, and if it wasn't sandy, it's going to be. Forsaking the traditional oriental hakama and gi that he is fond of, he instead choose the outfit most suitable: a tan robe in the middle of the damn desert. 'If it's one thing, it's another. Damn place is up to its ears in trouble.' Sorin was fuming because the transport he was going to get on was down for repairs, and the parts needed to fix it won't be here for another galactic standard week. What's worse is that he now has to turn down the contract he accepted yesterday because of these stupid delays. While not a big issue in and of itself for the Guild, he didn't like going out on his contracts. With a heavy sigh and a renewed step in his walk, he thought he might as well enjoy whatever time he had here on Tatooine. At least his red hair won't stand out too much in the brightly colored dyes of the market...he hoped...

'Come to think of it...there is a black market stand somewhere around here...I need a new battery for my blaster.' The thought of the battery almost slipped his mind with the news of the ship being down. His last contract forced him to burn through three of his battery packs; the damn sand people just didn't know when to die. Fortunately it was just a scout of five or so. Any more, and he would have been in a very tight position. The worst was the wait and running out of water in the desert dunes. Speaking of which...as his mind wandered, his eyes scanned the area around for some place to get a drink. Damn heat. He spotted an open-air cafe nearby, the green cloth shade above it giving it a nice friendly atmosphere...he hoped. Just as he walked up, two men walked past him, their faces twisted in contained anger, and Sorin couldn't place why they were angry. They were leaving in any case, so it mattered not to him. He approached the open counter set up, and behind it was a woman arranging some drinks to be served.

"Two jugs of water, if you please."

"Sure thing, just need to make this tea real quick."

He nodded, residing himself to seat down at a nearby table, placing his shoulder bag upon it. Now with somewhere to sit, he pulled out his datapad, and opened up a few files he needed to review.

 

[Gevaisa Rha]

Gevaisa had noticed with concern a glance from [member=Veino Garn] after the man’s chair had nearly tipped backwards, and she frowned, curiousity clouding her expression. The Twi'lek stared back at him. Did he hear/feel/see/sense that passing irrational fury, too? she wondered. Have I gone mad? No... maybe he simply took me for a staggering drunk -- Maybe he just --

“You don’t need water.”

Gevaisa blinked owlishly up at the glaring woman for a moment, simultaneously caught by surprise and distracted by the vivid flash of [member=Sorin Vanado]’s red hair (Now that’s one of nature’s warning signs, she thought) near the counter. And as she listened to the possibly-human female -- "...ginger tea's your best option. The alkalinity will definitely help counterbalance the acidic quantities of the alcohol in the drinks you've had” -- her eyes settled thoughtfully on the steam wafting about the hot water.

Considering the steeping tea, the Twi’lek smiled, extended her fingers towards the tendrils of spiced steam lofting from the cup, curled them appreciatively. She shifted her eyes back up to the apparently human woman, examining her more closely.

“You are likely correct, madame, yet the prospect of making it to the bottom of a Tatooine Sunburn on Tatooine was a challenge I couldn’t ignore.” With that, she pushed herself to her feet, smoothed an errant fold of her pale gold skirts, and offered a cordial little half-bow of greeting to [member=Enigma]. “Gevaisa’Rha,” she introduced herself. “Do you, ah, generally disapprove of alcoholic drinks being consumed by others, or was I, er...making a drunken fool of myself?”

 

[Veino Garn]

Veino noticed the Twi'lek staring at him, and he gave a nod of his head in acknowledgement, but stayed where he was for now. She was already getting other's attention, and a red flash caught his eye. His hand went for his lightsaber, but stopped. It was just hair. Very, very bright hair. He let out a sigh of relief though. He had no desire for a duel now. He had a journey to complete, and a lengthy one at that. It was a long way to Bespin. He looked at his tea again, and frowned. It was disappointing, to say the least. Not unlike life. He quirked a small grin at that thought. Life was a cold and sad cup of tea. That begged the question of how a cup of tea could be sad though. Did tea have emotions? What did it feel as a being drank it?

 

[TimirOrso]

Timir had come to Tatooine purely for business purposes, he had been contracted by some low-life in the slums of Mos-Espa on a Junk-trading deal. It seemed a certain uncouth horse faced Yarkora had peeked an interest by the amount of wares I had collected whilst wandering through the polluted industrial districts on Vulpter. His intended buyer didn't show however so instead Timir set up shop right here on Tatooine temporarily to sell his wares, then he would pack up and be on his way back to Confederate space where he had some unfinished business concerning the Techno Union.

As of yet, Timir had still not found his buyer, nor had been getting much business despite the single load of 10,000 credits he managed to smuggle off. The day was starting to tell and Timir figured he wasn't going to get anymore deals for the rest of the day so he set locked up his small rented space and wandered out into the rest of the market proper. Timir felt himself getting somewhat famished, as well he wished for some solace after the days work, the heat being nigh unbearable, Timir walked into a well shaded and stocked café sitting himself nearby a silent individual who appeared very jumpy-almost startled by the odd-red haired human all dressed in drab.

As he sat down Timir let out a long drawn out a deep, electronic sounding buzz.
[member="Veino Garn "][member="Gevaisa Rha"] [member="Sorin Vanado"] [member="Enigma"]

 

[Onrai]

[member="Gevaisa Rha"]

"I merely don't want you to overindulge." She smiled. "Call me Cass. Cassandra Cinthra." She decided the name was simple enough, and she had no reason to go into her past, or the harrowing tale of how the Sith Lady known as Circe Savan ended up here in a bar. "So, Gevaisa, tell me a bit about yourself. Twi'leks of your skin tone are rare now - I've seen a lot more Lethans and Rutians nowadays."

 

[Veino Garn]

Veino stiffened. Cinthra? Was that what he had heard? That was Alexandra's last name. It could be a coincidence, of course, but still, it would be a large coincidence. Did she have other loving relatives? He had never asked. He would wait though. There was no hurry.

He raised his tea cup and gave a small salute of acknowledgement to the Skakoan who had sat down not far away. He didn't see many of them around. They tended to stick near their laboratories and factories.

[member="TimirOrso"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"It's a very good deal."

<It's a sword.>

"It's punched through the skull of Lotek'k, the Terror From Beyond. It decapitated Zaiden James-Greyson. It's tasted the blood of half this galaxy's Masters of the Force. Come to think of it, why the feth am I selling it?"

<Because you want what I have,> said the implacable Dug merchant. <More than I want a sword. It's a piece of metal.>

"It's indestructible."

<So it can't be reforged into anything useful? Worthless even as scrap. I've got no use for curios.>

"Everything in this booth is a curio."

<A functional curio.>

"This sword is as functional as any sword ever made, and more."

<It's still a piece of metal. Not even a vibroblade.>

"Will you take it or won't you?"

<Lady, this is a heartstone amulet, one of twenty forged from one of the Healing Crystals of Fire. 'Course, the Templars never had twenty healers to use'em, and this one fell by the wayside. It'll make any healer a god.>

"No it won't. I've seen those things in action. They'll let you heal a hundred paper cuts, but anything big and you start running into the user's limitations. They're pure trinket."

<And yet you're willing to part with a weapon that's got serious sentimental value, if I read you right. Not to mention the sword that chopped into the skull of the Terror From Beyond.>

"Figures that sarcasm would translate. It's a good sword, you'll get a good price for it from any Templar, and you won't be found holding Templar property."

<A threat?>

"Just recognition that displaying this amulet is a risk as much as an opportunity. This sword, not so much."

<Unless one among half the galaxy's Masters recognizes the blade that tasted their blood.>

"Will you or won't you take the trade?"

<You're lucky I'm not moving camp tonight. This weapon's heavy.> The Dug merchant hefted the bastard sword in both smallhands, sighted down the edge. <What's it called?>

"Winterlight."

At his final nod, she slipped the heartstone amulet's chain around her neck, tucked it under her poncho with the two other hidden necklaces. Her gimer stick rested against the booth; she took it and limped off to find a drink.

[member="Enigma"]

 

[Onrai]

Familiar. Though it seemed horribly faint, a very, very familiar presence seemed to form itself within the area Circe herself was at. Eyebrow raised, her curiosity got the better of her as she turned. While Circe would be talking to the Twee, her doppelganger would be busy moving through the market, in order to follow [member="Ashin Varanin"]. Pausing, she didn't even try to physically get the woman's attention - Ashin knew only one person with the capability to produce such vivid doppelgangers - Well, one person who used and abused them.

"Excuse me, miss... I saw you had goods for sale and would like to purchase some."

 

[Matreya]

Damien had come to the very same market as the others, with a seperate intent in mind - sales. The recent destruction of a vast portion of Val'hala had resulted in many deaths and millions of creds in damage - being CEO of the very Tower that fell and caused such devastation left him feeling a certain responsibility to rebuild. What better then to donate creds gained?

As he moved past sales men, and others of repute doing business, Damien comically halted mid stride when he heard, "..decapitated Zaiden James-Greyson.." Turning he looked to the woman whom offered the exquisite blade, and he felt an odd compulsion to step forward.

"Excuse me, what would you ask for the blade?"

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Enigma"] [member="D-Man"]

"I've got little enough for sale these days," said Ashin, eyes flicking from one to the other. "Always was a piss-poor capitalist and lacked motivation as a collector. Friend, if you're after the sword, I just bartered it to the Dug over there." He seemed familiar; she couldn't place it. One of the many faces at Zaiden's funeral, maybe. As for the other-

"And what're you bartering today, Savan? Must be something special to find your way to a place as worthless as Tatooine."

 

[Gevaisa Rha]

“Your consideration is most kind, Cassandra Cinthra, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Gevaisa said to [member=Enigma], subtly pleased that she had not, in fact, been making a drunken fool of herself in public. The Tolian Twi’lek raised the ginger tea in a salute, tried a sip of the spicy brew, and reseated herself.

“Rare? Hmm… There are some sectors where every wealthy sentient collected a Lethan or Rutian on a leash, and I would wager that made them more visible...more commonly seen than the rest of us. Or maybe we just burn up our lives more quickly than others, and we truly are rare now.”

Maybe I should dye my skin red so as to not stand out, she thought absently. I expect I could even find the dye somewhere here tonight.

Gevaisa shook her head in a self-deprecating manner, then smiled faintly. “What else can I say? A bit about myself?” Her left hand dipped into a pocket, withdrew a slotted datacard embossed with her name, contact information, and university affiliation, and set it upon the table, sliding it past her empty glass.

“I work as a historian on Corellia, but there isn't much like this there.” She gestured at the colorful array of tents and stands with an expansive sweep of her arm, bluegreen eyes roaming the crowds of sentients. “I received a message that one of the merchants here has some pre-Restoration era ...artwork," she explained, deciding upon the last word after a quick, thoughtful pause. "I had to see if it was true.”

 

[Onrai]

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

"Well, aside from the New Order having splintered and the Horde having surrendered its territory to the Confederacy, not much." She sighed. "We did reconcile, though. Anyways, what are you selling off here? All your old Sith relics?" She paused for a moment, touching at Ashin's Force aura. "You're... weaker than usual. A lot weaker. What happened to you?"

-

[member="Gevaisa Rha"]

"Artwork?" She raised an eyebrow. "Come now, it can't possibly be that simple..." She smiled, wanting to know a bit more about what the woman here was trying to hide. Her pause indicated such, after all. "It's not like the truth can hurt you or anything, can it?"

 

[Al Gorlock]

He walked into the market place, his signature cigar in his rough and cracked lips. He carried crutches as he wondered the market place, searching for a bar. He barely even glancd at the expensive, exotic items, many of merchants would be carrying. Al was here for supplies, not luxury items. He slowly removed his cigar, holding it between his index and middle finger.
Blowing out a thick grey ring of smoke. He saw the cafe, heading over, pushing the door open.

It was quite crowded, really. He headed straight for the counter, right as a man fell into him. The man smelled of booze and crashed into Al, sending Al to the floor. He gritted his teeth in pain as he felt his earlier injury from a sith which forced him to use crutches to support his broken legs.

"ARE YOU FETHING KIDDIN' ME?" He shouted, causing silence in the cafe. He slowly reached up, gripping the counter and pulling himself up. "Yeah, thanks for helpin' me out 'ere", He mumbled sarcasticly. He finally decided that this was not worth it, he was not a fan of drunks. He somehow managed to grab his crutches and headed out the very, very, very large entrance.


He had two choices at the moment, walk around or simply yell for someone to make him an offer. "ANYONE SELLIN' WEAPONS?" He shouted, ignoring the stares he received from every man, woman, and child that walked through the market. After all, he was used to them, his face was so horrific that it looked from out of a holographic horror tape.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Enigma"]

Ashin smiled faintly. The woman she knew as Circe Savan seemed genuinely curious, less malevolent than some, but then again her ability to feel the Force and its users was not what it had been. Wishful thinking, perhaps. "I got strong in other ways -- that's what happened. The time came when I couldn't move forward without paying for what I'd done, so I attended the Jedi convocation at Sigma Station, went before the assembled Councils, and asked for justice. Some said death, some said Force severing, some said reduction to Padawan and house arrest. I didn't see that last option as especially just. Death would have been fair. Regardless, I wound up severed back to square one, and I've found it...well, frankly, it's wonderful, Circe. A new life, a new skillset, a chance to do everything over. So yes, I've been getting rid of my Sith accoutrements, though I never had many. My holocrons went to Dissero and Spencer, my armor went to Valik, and the sword was the last one."

Again she smiled faintly. "I was never really one for toys, at least not at that scale. When I took the Obsidian Throne, and when I fought Moridin on Mandalore, I wore...pretty much what you see me in right now, and all I had was a lightsabre. As for the larger toys, well, I'm no longer an Arbiter for the Fringe -- tough to keep Masters in line as a Padawan -- and I retired from my commission. They might call me back to helm the Chimaera if necessary, but those days are done. I am unemployed, my net worth is very low, and I'm happier than I've been in a decade.

"How've you been, Circe? Where are you setting up shop these days? Promising new apprentices, interesting acquisitions?"

 

[Onrai]

"Well... After the New Order disbanded, I moved back to Horde space predominantly. Then the CIS invaded over what Dredge did. Everyone else but me ran away, and since I was the only one left, I surrendered the Horde to the Confederacy. It wasn't that bad, honestly - it's not like they've raped and pillaged our land. My factories are still intact and whatnot."

She sighed. "Well... You're unemployed, you say? I'd be willing to hire you - I have something I've been working on that you may very much like. It's one of my projects that survived the New Order."

[member="Ashin Varanin"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Enigma"]

"I'd heard the Confederacy invaded. You were lucky, after Druckenwell. Wise move, surrendering. If I'm hearing it right about..." She glanced about; this was in public, in Confederate territory, after all. "About Norongachi," she said quietly, "grandstanding would have gotten you killed and your earth salted. If I'm hearing it right."

She sidestepped into an alley; too many eyes. "As for the job, full disclosure, I'm fresh out of marketable skills. I've got secondary school education, no Force connection to speak of, and a target on my back. I'm good with a blade and I'm good with a fleet, but other than that, I'm not sure how useful I could be. What's the project?"

 

[Darth Odium]

[member="Gevaisa Rha"] [member="Ashin Varanin"] [member="Enigma"] [member="D-Man"] @Veino Garn [member="TimirOrso"] [member="Sorin Vanado"]

Odium walked through the crowd as the people flitted to and fro buying, selling and trading. They all wanted things, items, stuff, and they all based contentment off what they left with. It was sad in a way that they didn't understand that regardless of what they did in a hundred years or so they would be forgotten and the things they acquired would belong to another. The thought of the futility of it was both humorous and sad in it's way, but Odium was here for a thing as well, so who was he to talk...not that he could.

Odium stopped at a shop and picked up a fist sized crystal and stood looking at it for a long time while subtly channeling the force through it to check for a reaction, but nothing happened. He set the crystal down and moved along to another booth of a gem dealer. He needed a fist sized crystal for his next plan and it had to be perfect and preferably sentient. He could feel others here that were force users and tucked his necklace under his tunic. He pulled his cloak around himself as he walked and made sure to keep an eye out for trouble. He didn't need that, not yet at least.