Public Denon Denomiter

[Davik Lorso]

Sometimes Davik wondered why in a galaxy like this one, where corporations like BlasTECH, SysTECH, Czerka TECH, CyTECH and so many other TECHs existed, one of them was yet to find a way to counter something so simple as hydrofoil. It was a basic material in every kriffing spaceship and more often tossed away as garbage than appreciated for the endless quality and uses. Hydrofoil was basically tinfoil, but created under an immense amount of hydro pressure and for some reason it was impossible to see through with ordinary handheld scanners. You know the kind, the ones customs agents like this Lieutenant Tash used, although his was currently holstered on the left side of his belt while he was preoccupied reading some obtuse administrative mumbojumbo on his datapad. His short-cropped blonde hair and broad shoulders betrayed military service while the smoothness of his face betrayed his youth. Davik estimated him to be around twenty years old and probably fresh from whatever academy customs agents went to. It posed a danger to Davik, sure, because the worn-over-time kind was much more agreeable to a bribe whenever they did find something that maybe wasn't on the manifest that baby-face Tash was currently reading. No doubt he'd be a stickler for the law, Davik wagered.

"So this dialect isn't coming through the translator module cleanly," the lieutenant sighed, frowned, coughed and then met Davik's tired eyes. "I'm sorry but you'll have to talk me through it," Davik thought he noticed an insecure tremor in his voice as if this particular scenario hadn't been in the training manual.

"No worries, kid-" the fifty-something spacer smiled back, the small dimples on his face hidden by a four day old stubble of grey hair. Davik had the soft voice of a man spent too long in isolation, having no reason to use his voice other than the occasional ship-to-ship passing agreement on the traderoutes. "You see this here,-" he angled over the datapad slightly and pressed a finger on a line of text on the cargo manifest, "-its a crude dialect the locals from Morlana One used to speak. I bought the astronavigation module there, but something is bugged out making the manifests some gibberesh of the dialect, aurabesh and some spacer lingo. Be as old as me and still in customs and you'll know it better than whatever language you grew up with."

Davik swiped his finger upwards, revealing the important part of the manifest; the list of cargo.

"So this is a tank, 200 liters, filled with salt water native to the shipment of fish to a Calamari Seafood restaurant on this here planet." The reference to a large restaurant chain that served affordable seafood seemed to hit home as the kid nodded. "I always thought their fish was tank-grown, synthetic, due to supply issues,"

Davik grinned, "That's right. It took a genocide of three-hundred fish species before they decided to grow them on fish-farms. Still have to be transported, though. Same as the real fish in this 40 liter tank over here," his finger moved slightly to the number 40 on the manifest, which revealed the liters of the second foodstuff tank on board. "This one is real. A fugu fish worth twenty-thousand credits to the right buyer. Used to be a crime family on Eriadu, the Zaa Fenn, treated real pufferfish like this as ultimate treat until one died from eating it."

The young lieutenant seemed surprised for a moment as his eyebrows rose and his lower jaw dropped; "He died from eating it?" Davik's grin grew wider as he grew more comfortable in his old storytelling spacer role, "Ah yes. Now I've never had the credits to eat one of them," he paused to make the universal gesture of something being really expensive, "my meals cost two or three credits, noodles, synth-fish and filtered blue water, not twenty-thousand credits for a single bite of fish." The lieutenant closed his mouth and nodded to show that he, too, had the unfortunate reality of being so poor that he had to cook with filtered blue water.

"Turns out when you don't cook the Fugu properly it turns into some high concentrated poison," Davik shrugged, "I say let the corporate bigwig that ordered this one deal with that, right?"

For a moment Davik was afraid he'd overplayed his hand by mentioning the pufferfish could potentially be regarded as a lethal poison. The kid seemed to mull it over for a second before he got distracted by the fact he was able to read the next part of the list just fine. "Ah CorSec Entertainment Modules," his youth clearly visible as he eagerly read on, "I saw an ad this morning about how this one could really bring Lizzy Malina to live if you have the 'A Thousand Nabooan Nights' on hologram-disk."

"Ah," Davik sighed, "that's the newer model. I picked these up in a sale passing a CorSec station. Figured I could make a little profit on them here on Denon, but you guys are already selling the updated systems," he grimaced in a well-practised and very visible look of disappointment. "That's going to eat at my profit margin," his frown deepened and the young lieutenant seemed to feel a bit guilty about springing him the news.

"You might still find a good price for them in the Rodian District," the lieutenant offered, trying to lift the old spacer's spirits. "We'll get to scanning the cargo bay now and you might still get a hover there before the markets close tonight." Not that easily consoled, Davik still frowned angrily as he shook his head, muttering something about being short on both fuel and rations if the sale fell through.

Ofcourse that wasn't true. His profit for this entire trip would be enough to fuel his ship five times over. It just wouldn't be made with delivering fish to Calamari Seafood or a pufferfish to some local corpsec executive. Underneath the floorboards of the master bunk was a thinfoil covered package holding a sizeable spice shipment to a local Klatoonian gang.


________

[OOC: Feel free to join. I plan on leaving the spaceport soon to make the planetside deliveries. Meet me where it makes the most sense for your char]

 

[Matthias Colcrip]

Matthias was a nomad at heart. He hardly gave much thought as to where he was going, whether it be a remote world such as Hoth or a city-world like Coruscant. To him it was all the same chaotic galaxy with the same players and same conflicts that have plagued it time and time again. No, to Matthias the destination was merely the place where money was to be made or a jedi was to be killed: today was another day to make some credits.

Denon, otherwise known as the "Other Coruscant" to himself anyways, was his destination today. Like Coruscant it's streets and walkways were packed tight with all manner of individuals from all corners of the galaxy. Among them was Matthias, his face and armor covered by his gray robes and hood respectively. He had only been here a few times before and definitely not anywhere near the amount of times he had been to it's larger counterpart.

Recently he acquired a small shipment of rare metals and was hoping to find a buyer. He had spent many years as a loner, primarily through the command of the voices that continually haunt his mind, though those voices recently convinced him to change his tune. He was now in the search of new allies and potential partners or contacts. While his primary goal today was to make a profit, he was also hoping to find a potential partner to buy his acquired goods in the future.

So he walked for now, scanning the street as he did for someone who may be a potential buyer, partner, or both.​

Davik Lorso @whoever else potentially joins

 

[Parvati]

Denon
Matthias Colcrip Davik Lorso ​

In the line of work Parvati was in, finding yourself in the back alleys on Denon was not totally uncommon, though it was a first time for her. Since her release from prison, the mistress had decided to take a more direct approach to the way she ran her company. She knew that she needed to rebuild her reputation with the public while simultaneously rebuilding her trust in the underworld.

Denon was on the fringes of Alliance space, meaning it was home to all types of opportunities one couldn't find in the belly of the beast. It was a perfect place for the type of business Parvati was trying to conduct. She had flown here on her own behalf. There was said to be a rogue faction of Klatoonian criminals who were causing trouble for the drug trade in this sector of the sprawling city wide planet. Parvati couldn't have that, she was trying to open a club here, and to do that she couldn't have people stepping on her business. She came to Denon to either buy them out or kill them, whether that be today, or tomorrow. By the end of it, she would make sure her clients were safe when they visited her nightclubs.

She had landed in a nearby shipyard, and with a couple flicks of her long eyelashes, she was able to pull one over on the young agent who greeted her. He was on the verge of letting her go without even checking her credentials, it was rather cute actually. Luckily, though, he never bothered to see if she was lying or not about the capabilities of the droids on board. Parvati even got by with her weapons. With the flustered agent in the distance now, she took off toward where the last sighting of these Katoonians was.

A black leather-like bodysuit framed her physique while she strolled down the durasteel walkways. She had a blaster strapped to her side and a knife tucked into her knee high boots. Parvati's already impressive height was boosted by the four inch heels. She had hoped to use her own charisma to resolve the issue before any sort of combat would be needed. That wasn't to say she would ever go somewhere unprepared. If for some reason the gang was stupid enough to try to kill her, the mistress would have her personal guards here within minutes. Granted that would be if the building the Klatoonians were in wasn't lined with something that would stop the signal.

"I'm approaching their last known location now." the woman said into her ear piece before taking it out as to not alert them if they were watching. Making her way through the sprawling sector, she could tell there was a similarity between Nar Shaddaa, Coruscant, and Denon. However, Parvati could tell it didn't have the freedom of Nar Shaddaa, nor did it have the total stench of the Alliance all over it like Coruscant. Yet that was. She took another few steps before stopping in front of a building with a few chair placed outside of it. Here she would take a seat, attempting to blend in as much as possible while also scanning the crowd for any signs of the gang. She pulled out a personal holo-device and pretended to reply to messages until something caught her attention.

 

[Davik Lorso]

The hovercart that Davik had rented from one of the cheaper shops inside the spaceport couldn't handle the weight of the entire shipment. That meant that getting those fish to Calamari Seafood in the morning would be a challenge, for sure, but tonight he still had something else in his mind. You see, the thing about transporting spice is that for the entire duration of your voyage through the endless blackness of space the temptation of sampling the merchandise grows with every sleepless cycle, every tasteless rationpack and especially after you've watched that old rodian gunslinger movie that got stuck in your onboard entertainment module six years ago, for the fifteenth time in a row.

What Davik sorely needed right now was to score some uppers. Something to jerk him out of the depressing emotional state that befitted his monotonous lifestyle on the hyperlanes. Something that he could buy from the credits of the Klatoonian spice deal. So, naturally, the rusty rickety hovercart was loaded up with the Corsec entertainment modules that were conveniently concealing the shipment of (truthfully sub-standard) Kessel Glitterdust and he directed it rather awkwardly -not being used to the buzzing traffic of a city-world like Denon- towards the dropoff coordinates.

About twenty minutes later the hovercart came to halt in front of a rather nondescript building. Not ten seconds later while Davik was checking if the coordinates he had entered into his little navigation unit had been correct, the garage door opened and two bulky Klatoonians were eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Kriff, what was that codeword again?

"Sunsets Deliveries, plural, because where you have multiple suns you enjoy multiple sunsets."

One of the Klatoonians held a communicator to his ear and barked something in a language Davik didn't understand while the other signalled for him to steer the hovercart inside, out of sight from the street. He complied, ofcouse. There was something about dropping off a spice shipment that you didn't want to do it out in the street where everyone and their street-rat-grandman's could see you and... Davik blinked twice and almost strained a neck muscle as he noticed someone sitting across the street. Her eyes seemed fixed on her communicator and Davik didn't think she had noticed him, but he.. well, kriff. His voyage had been too long not to notice a young woman in a tight dress.

"Engine off," a Klatoonian barked and pulled the aged smuggler from his momentary lapse of judgment. "You up elevator. Bossman waits to test product there."

Davik did as was told and only after the hum of the engine subsided did he notice the melodic barking rapmusic that was three parts in their native tongue and one part in galactic basic. It offered a surprisingly catchy tune and as he grabbed the bag of spice and headed to the elevator he couldn't help but rap along the catchy, quick-to-memory lyrics;

"You must be Barking Shady, defno Barking Lady, forsure Barking Lazy-"

"Oeh-Ah-Eh-WHY, Barking Crazy, Eh-Eh-Eh-Ah-AAh"

 

[Matthias Colcrip]

Matthias roamed the streets while his eyes scanned everyone that walked by. The shops and storefronts he passed by only furthered his conclusions that Denon was the odd mega-city left out. Coruscant had the grip of the Galactic Alliance, sure, but the lower levels of that planet still boasted a colorful scene with just as colorful individuals. Meanwhile Nar Shaddaa was one of the true worlds for criminals and scum alike, the one place in the galaxy anyone with enough street cred could get away with anything. Denon was just a city; a large city but another city nonetheless in an already expansive galaxy.

As he walked along the bustling streets a familiar chill washed over him. "You've seen her," the quiet and child-like tone declared. Matthias stopped in his tracks, a few individuals behind him accidently bumping into him. While they apologized or cursed him out, continuing on their way after, Matthias still stood there dead in his tracks. Methodically he began scanning the area directly around him. Nearby was a small cafe with a few chairs and tables setup outside the main entrance. Sitting at one of the tables was a woman in black leather and large heels that would surely make the already tall woman all the more intimidating. Intimidating to the average passerby perhaps but not to Matthias, who began making his way over to the table upon which she sat.

As he approached his memory began to jog to life. While he didn't know the woman he couldn't deny there was something strikingly similar about her. As he arrived at the table he calmly sat down with his palms flat, indicating he wasn't a threat. "Sorry miss," he started, "but you looking familiar. Have we met before?" In truth he didn't know her, at least not personally. Though he had been to his share of gang hangouts and had spent a few months on Nar Shaddaa years prior; he assumed it was from one of these seedier parts of the galaxy he had, at least, seen this woman.

As the question left his lips, Matthias reached out through the force in the hopes of learning any additional info, taking care not to peer or linger too long as to avoid giving himself away. He couldn't sense much other than the determination of whatever her mission was. If she was here on a job of some kind, Matthis was hoping to get in on the action; not just for the potential profit, but yet another potential ally.​

Davik Lorso // Parvati

 

[Davik Lorso]

Parvati Matthias Colcrip

Inside the elevator Davik's nerves grew tense. It wasn't uncommon in the criminal underworld that previously made deals were altered without informing the other party. Neither was it uncommon to short the middleman, the smuggler, when he didn't have a very distinct brand of the more powerful gang in view. Davik was an independent smuggler. He was perhaps the least protected and most vulnerable part of the spice economy and he had almost forgotten it. He knew he had to play it smarter than the Klatoonians and not shine a light on his vulnerability.

As the doors opened, Davik immediately stepped into what seemed to be the entire floor. Walls had been reduced to rubble, opening up the space (aside from a few supporting pillars) and providing a clear view of the Klatoonian gang and their enterprise. Davik noticed tables that were prepped to cut up the Glitterdust and mix it with low quality snuff so they could stretch the glitter-effects to as many grams as possible without diluting it away entirely. Then there were crates, about a dozen of them, that clearly held aftermarket blaster rifles and pistols. Davik didn't know the Klatoonians' power in this district or on Denon proper, but it definitely seemed like they were preparing to expand.

"You do not look Pyke-ish," a Klatoonian brute that Davik guessed to be about two meters tall and sport a hundred kilo's of dense bone and muscle, approached him, grabbed him by the collar and by pushing and pulling him around for a few seconds managed to determine he was unarmed as he nodded and turned towards a one-eyed Klatoonian in a bright purple tunic. "He unarmed."

"Just here to exchange the spice for my payment," Davik said in his best fake-assured voice as he approached the purple-dressed bossman. "I'm on a schedule the Pyke Syndicate wants me to keep to," he placed the back of spice on the table, "without unnecessary delays."

The bossman was drooling slightly and then sniggered into a low growl, "Huahuahuah, Pyh-ke has you make more deliveries on Denon?" He asked and Davik heard a sound from behind him that he guessed was someone's palm tightening and twisting around the handle of a vibro-weapon. It was clear that the Klatoonians didn't like the Pykes selling spice to the other gangs on Denon, and if killing him would prevent deliveries to the others than they wouldn't think twice about it.

"Not spice," Davik quickly replied, "a rare fish to some corporat here on Denon and then some messages and other artefacts along the traderoute."

A gruff sound eminated from behind the Klatoonian's fangs and they he signalled one of his goons that it was okay to give Davik the credit chips in a small food baggie from Calamari Seafood. Coincidence, of course. "Pleasure doing business," he got up with the takeaway bag of credits in his left hand. "The Pyke Syndicate appreciates your business."

Two minutes later he backed the hovercart out of the building again. The entertainment modules were still on there and for some reason he delayed his return to traffic. Across the street that tight-dressed woman still sat, but Davik had been too late to approach her. Another, younger, man had beat him to it. Kriff. Another reason for him to need those uppers tonight.

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

He was only meant to be on Denon for one simple reason.

Theft.

Not that Nor'baal saw it in that way. It had only been by chance he had overheard the wayward gambler back in a rivals Cantina place a reckless bet, a camtomo of silicax, all on a single podracer to win the days race. Naturally the unlucky fool had lost, and left this place, Denon, as the location to collect the payment.

Nor'baal, not one to look a gift Bantha in the horns, had lept on the chance to claim the prize for himself, and stolen the betting chit, before heading to Denon to claim the bet.

He'd entered under his own power, moving behind a man who was leaving the room, and heading to a hovercart. The Hutt followed, huffing loudly, and waved the cart down <Stop!> he barked, a fistful of credits in his grubby little hand <You heading back out of town?> he asked, trying to bum a ride from the man, unwilling to continue to make this little escapade under his own strength.

 

[Davik Lorso]

The last thing to expect when dropping off a spice shipment for the Pyke Syndicate was a Hutt standing behind you, puffing something about bumming a ride. Yet it happened. As sure as Bantha poodoo stinks and Glitterryll and Bantha Milk mix. "Eh," Davik looked at his own hovercart filled with the rather worthless entertainment modules, "I have to make a few deliveries first, but yeah-" the last think he wanted was to have a Hutt of all sentient beings stop him from scoring a few uppers in another part of town. "-where do you need to go, oh Magnanimous-" Davik had been a smuggler long enough to know that Hutts needed to be flattered at every opportunity, "-and illustrous Hutt."

Safest bet was back to Hutt-controlled space. Slimmest odds were for Coruscant. Davik figured he'd take that bet. "If your majestic highness seeks to give me the honor of transporting your magnanimous," his voice lost tone and showed a hint of fatigue, "I have plenty of freshly farmed fish on board." Calamari Seafood be kriffed. Those kind of corporate restaurant chains didn't care about their transporters anyway. Pay was lousy, too. The fugu was another matter, though. "I just need to make one delivery in the Systech Corporate Tower in Sector Thirteen. Something about a fish," and, if he's lucky, a local spice dealer that still had ample supply of uppers left.

Without waiting for an answer, Davik shoved the entertainment modules aside to make room on the hovercart for the large Hutt. "Please," he gestured for the still unidentified Hutt to get on, "Consider this your carriage, your highness." Silently he wondered if the Hutt belonged to one of the more powerful clans within the Hutt Cartel and if so, what kind of wealth Davik could aspire to if he played his cards right.

Either way, if the Hutt got on, the garage doors opened and the hovercart merged with traffic. The gorgeous woman was talking to someone else now, prompting a feeling of regret in Davik's gut, but the prospect of receiving ample rewards from the Hutt Cartel in the future quickly made it pass for wind. After twenty years on the hyperlanes this might finally be the turning point in his pathetically boring life.

Nor'baal the Hutt Parvati Matthias Colcrip

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

<Yes, yes, fine!> Nor'baal barked impatiently, albeit pleased with the humanoid's apt and appropriate fawning displays. If they had to go on a delivery run to some 'business tower' then so be it: get me out of here!

Nor'baal eyed the fish, slathering a little as he contemplated gorging himself on the box's lurid contents. No! He snapped himself out of the display of hastiness; he had no idea what was in those 'fish' and could not afford to lapse in his judgment now.

Settling into his new 'carriage' he did his level best to look Imperious and grand, so the passing masses could be reminded of their station in life, and addressed his new driver. <You clearly have work on this planet, no? Tell me - to which master are you bonded?> he asked, assuming the man was here at someone else behest.

Already there was a plan fermenting in his brain to make this poor feckless wretch an offer and whisk him back to Tatooine, where he could be put to work. Nor'baal always had a need for people to carve sand whales or clean the outhouses. This man had two functional arms, and at least as many legs - he could be put to profitable work with ease.

Yet first there was the matter of Nor'baal securing his payment here on Denon. Things aligned it seemed, he could see what the mettle of this human was, and secure his payment in the process.

 

[Davik Lorso]

The hot air passing between the Denon skyscrapers only added to Davik's growin drowsiness as they made their followed the little blip on the hovercart's navcomputer. The hutt weight a ton and they had some trouble gaining altitude at first. "Just some deliveries, your grace-" he replied, almost shouting over the sounds of passing urban speeders. A nearby billboard showed a holographic image of an idyllic suburban lifestyle on a planet that -if Davik remembered correctly- had been absolutely massacred by the Bryn-adul half a century ago. Nothing stopped corprations to put prefab suburban homes on the mass graves, after all.

"I'm an independent transporter," he didn't need to state that he smuggled illicit goods, too. Hutts, he knew, didn't see the difference anyway. There was no moral or legal divide in their view of business. They recognized only the peggats that a business venture could earn them. "Spice, mainly-" he added as they banked right along a large housing multiplex. "-rare goods, too." he motioned towards the small tank with the Fugu fish. A rare delicacy someone had been willing to pay a lot of credits for. Corporate executives often hired independent transporters to make sure their transaction wouldn't show up in some other corporation's ledger. The less the competition knew about your habits, your vices and virtues, the better.

The came to a halt on a landing pad attached to the thirty-fourth floor of the Systech Corporate Megatower. It was its own little enclosed society. It had corporate offices, apartments, schools, shops, cantina's and.. spice dealers. Usually they sold the good kind. The Force knew that these corporats needed the uppers a lot to keep up with their mundane tasks.

As Davik stepped off the cart, he pulled out the little ramps to make the descent easier on the Hutt and then did a little curtsy bow. "I'm Davik. Davik Lorso. If your grace would wait for me at the Quick-Draw Cantina," no doubt named because the corporats from Systech fancied the old holowesterns from Tatooine, "I'll be right back."

Nor'baal the Hutt

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

Nor'baal Desilijic Tiure's considerable bulk shifted slightly on the hovercart as it finally came to a halt on the landing pad of the thirty-fourth floor. The journey through the bustling cityscape of Denon had been a noisy and somewhat uncomfortable one, made someone less unbearable by the fact he did not have to walk under his own power. Yet throughout the Hutt's expression remained impassive, his deep-set yellow eyes flicking between the surrounding skyscrapers and the holographic billboards that dotted the skyline.

The hot air and the ceaseless noise of urban speeders had done little to improve Nor'baal's mood, but he was here for business, and business required patience. As Davik Lorso, the independent transporter, made his introduction and spoke of the various goods he handled, Nor'baal listened with a mixture of interest and calculation. Spice and rare goods were always in demand, and having reliable transporters was essential to any successful operation - being able to seel product here, a wealthy planet, would be deeply profitable for the Hutt.

As the cart stopped and Davik extended the ramps, Nor'baal slithered down with surprising grace for his size, his eyes never leaving his surroundings. The Systech Corporate Megatower was an impressive structure, a self-contained city within a city, and the opportunities it presented were not lost on him.

<Very well, Davik,> Nor'baal rumbled <I will wait at this Quick-Draw Cantina. Ensure that your business is handled swiftly.>

With that, Nor'baal turned and began to make his way toward the cantina, some short distance away. The enclosed society of the corporate tower was a stark contrast to the rough and tumble world of Tatooine, but Nor'baal was nothing if not adaptable. He understood that wealth and power came in many forms, and the corporate executives who frequented this tower were just another piece of the galaxy's complex puzzle.

As he entered the Quick-Draw Cantina, just a few floors down in the mgeatower, Nor'baal took a moment to survey the establishment. It was a far cry from the Dusty Dewback, his own cantina on Tatooine, but it had a certain charm. The decor was themed around old holowesterns, a nostalgic nod to a simpler, albeit fictional, time. The patrons, mostly corporate types, glanced up at the imposing Hutt with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension before quickly returning to their drinks and conversations.

Nor'baal selected a corner booth that afforded him a clear view of the entrance and the main floor. He settled his bulk onto the reinforced seating. A serving droid approached, and he ordered a strong drink, something to pass the time while he waited for Davik to return.

As he sipped his drink, Nor'baal's mind was already at work, considering the potential alliances and business opportunities that Denon and its corporate elite could offer. He knew that to expand his influence, he would need to forge new connections and exploit every advantage. Davik Lorso's reliability and access to rare goods could prove invaluable in this endeavor.

Nor'baal's eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the cantina's patrons. There were deals to be made and secrets to uncover in this enclosed society, and he intended to do both. For now, though, he would wait patiently for Davik's return, content in the knowledge that each step he took brought him closer to his goals of wealth and power in the galaxy's vast underworld.

 

[Davik Lorso]

Although he had at least expected the Hutt to -finally- introduce himself to Davik, he now watched the large slug slither away into the megatower. "Does he-" he didn't dare finish the question out loud. Did the Hutt expect everyone to know him, simply because he was a Hutt and there weren't too many of them in the galaxy? Well, one Hutt was probably already too many. Davik knew of some Hutts, smaller ones.. they styled themselves as Diamyo's or something and often ran a little town on some backwater Outer Rim world, or a gambling den on more populated worlds like here on Denon.

Deciding he better be more direct about the matter when he met the Hutt in the cantina, Davik grabbed the little portable tank that kept the fugu pufferfish alive and made his way to the drop off location. The coordinates lead him to a high-end su'shi restaurant on the fifty-fifth floor where he was greeted by a tanned man in a custom-fitted suit. "You must be the transporter," the man bowed and gestured for Davik to come in, take a seat and place the tank on the table. "I have your fee right here," a briefcase the size of a small datapad or large communicator was placed on the table beside the tank. "You are right on time. They will make great su'shi with this fugu for my boss tonight."

"That's great," Davik replied in a tone of voice that suggested he couldn't be less interested in what the polite rich man was planning to do with the cargo. He only transported. "Say," that didn't mean he couldn't care less about everything that went on inside this city-within-a-city. "Whenever you have to work through the night," his lowered his voice and got a little closer to the polite executive assistant, "Where do you get the stuff that helps you do it?" his free hand disappeared into his pocket and he pulled at a nearly empty pill case to show the corporat what he meant.

The corporat on his turn hesitated. He probably wasn't sure if he could trust the stranger. Then again, the chances of this random spacer being an undercover security officer looking to rat him out to Systech and bag a spicedealer were... really slim. "Go to the Quick-Draw on the thirty-first floor. Look for a green Twi'lek with a silver nosering." That description was a bit vague, but most likely enough, so Davik nodded "Thanks. Enjoy the fish."

Five minutes later he walked into the Quick-Draw Cantina and immediately realized why the corporat thought the description he had provided would be enough. Aside from a green Twi'lek and a Hutt, the latter drew a lot of curious eyes, the cantina's clientel consisted exclusively of humans, or very near-humans, in suits or factory uniforms. No one stood out but the aliens and.. and now the dirty spacer that walked in.

Davik nodded to the Hutt as a way of greeting or acknowledgement that the two had seen each other, but then turned and headed straight towards the Twi'lek. "Are you Up'Down Ryllman?" the subtlety of his question was enough to cause onlookers to turn away their gaze, close their ears and prompt the Twi'lek to show his most indignified expression. "Are you kriffing mad?" the Twi'lek cried and followed it up with some sort of hissing sound that Davik had heard Twi'leks made before, "Not even the authorities are that painfully obvious in their approach."

"Good," Davik smiled and put the briefcase filled with credits on the table, "now that you know I'm not a cop, I need twenty uppers and a few downers," he turned his head to look at the Hutt for a second and seemed to think of something, "make it a dozen downers. What's your rate, ten credits a dose?" he quick in rattling off the order, but the Twi'lek seemed able to follow just five and reassess the situation with narrowed eyes. "This is corporat building. 30 a dose," a little haggling was to be expected, "20, then. Right in the middle." Unfortunately they both know the Twi'lek had a stronger position to haggle from, "25 is the lowest I can go."

For a moment Davik considered walking away. He knew he could get some of the synth stuff for fifteen in one of the more gang-controlled districts, but he'd risk the Hutt walking out on him if he delayed and detoured even further. After a moment he opened the little briefcase and pulled out a few hundred credits, "alright, here."

His pillcase restocked and enough credits on him for fuel and rations, not counting the Calamari Seafood's order that he now figured was the Hutt's onboard snack, he returned to the overgrown slug with a smug expression on his face. "Right, that's all business sorted. To whose patronage may I offer the services of transportation?" it was a back-assed weird way to ask for a name, true. Davik figured that if he said it this way, the Hutt might think that he sees it as an honor to transport him. The hutt giving the human the patronage of allowing him to transport such an elevated and magnificient personage. Davik just hoped it worked.

Nor'baal the Hutt

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

This cantina was much nicer than his. It was the sort of place people washed before coming to - luxurious. Nor'baal noticed he was being looked at by the veritable sea of humans in the venue, no doubt marvelling as his impressive form, intimidated for sure. He waited for a drink to be brought over to him, growing irrate as nothing appeared.

Did they not know how to conduct themselves?

Nor'baal was quite grumpy by the time Davik rocked up.

Seeing the human make his way over to some Twi'lek and make a trade, Nor'baal scowled. He waved over the service droid, finally cracking to his pining for a beverage. <Gamorrean Ale.> he barked, droid nodded, returning with a pint of a Corellian ale "8 credits."

Nor'baal blinked.

Not only had he been brought a drink one-fifth the size it should be, it was also the wrong drink and eight damn credits.

He handed over the money with a grunt.

Daylight robbery.

Finally, he took a sip and finished the drink in one, before replying to Davik <Nor'baal Desilijic.> Nor'baal watched as a few people raised their heads from their drinks at hearing his second name. Most people had heard of the Desilijic, and none of them would have heard good things.

<I need to collect something, from here actually - and then get back to Tatooine.> he said, leaning closer to Davik, his voice dropping to a whisper <These natives seem....odd.>

 

[Davik Lorso]

Nor'baal Desilijic [...] Davik had stopped listening by the third uttered name. Kriff. This Hutt was basically part of the biggest kingpin clan of Hutt space. Part of the Hutt Council at the top of the Hutt cartel. Although Nor'baal wasn't in that council himself, Davik figured, seeing as he didn't travel with dozens of guards and depended on him to be transported across the surface of Denon. Still, if one had to pick a clan inside the mighty cartel to work for.. to align themselves with. Kriff it if it wouldn't be the Desilijic.

Davik bowed, "It is a great honor to be of your assistance, your eminence, Master Nor'baal." an act on itself that made the human onlookers frown even harder and exchanging whispered conversation among themselves. Davik noticed it as well and nodded in reply to the Hutt. "Let us focus on business then. What do we need to pick up?"

Davik could already see himself dressed in fine silks and sitting in the cockpit of a new spaceship as a Vigo of the Desilijic Clan. His skin was soft, his hair was washed and he smelled of binka fruit and spice. A few female voice laughed in the background and he knew he'd made it. That was the dream. That was.. Davik snapped out of it, for it was just that. Just a dream. First he needed to convince the Hutt to take him on as a retainer and then rise the ranks of skill, actions and trust.

Nor'baal the Hutt

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

The correct amount of genuflection, excellent.

Nor'baal was impressed with the degree to which Davik seemed to move effortlessly into the speaking style Hutts expected from their inferiors (which was to say everyone). Perhaps it would be worth keeping this one around? Whilst the other humanoids looked over, it was clear none of them understood the more refined language of Huttese, grunting as they did in their gutteral basic.

<A camtomo.> he did not state of what, instead summoning the server droid and paying for his paltry beverage, placing a Wiupiu coin down with his credits, signalling that he was here on business, to the person out back who held what he was here to collect. The droid scurried off, and within a few moments a fat looking human with a sweaty pallid face emerged.

"A thousand apologies you refined majesty, Yur'baal." waddling man stammered as he approached, using the name of the Hutt he had placed the bet with on Tatooine - completely unaware that Nor'baal, was not infact, Yur'baal. The Hutt sneered, not deigning to look at the man, affecting an air of supriority that came naturally to him.

<You have it?> he asked, raising a stubby little hand to halt the man in his tracks. "The Camtomo? No, no, no. There has been a misunderstanding. You see, the bet was made on Tatooine, not here so surely it does not carry here?" the fat man tried to wriggle his way out of his obligations...

 

[Davik Lorso]

Davik blinked twice. Did the fat man just call the Hutt Yur'baal and the Hutt had made no fuss over it? Davik didn't know what he was missing, but he knew he was missing something and looked at Nor'baal with some confusion in the hope that the Hutt would help him out by either providing context or giving him a direct order or assignment. When the man tried to wriggle out of his debt to a Hutt, even Davik knew he couldn't let that go uncontested.

Grabbing the empty glass that had held the Corellian Ale, Davik smashed it against the table to create a couple of shard edges that could be used as something of a knife and stepped closer to the studdy man. "You really think you can cheat a Hutt," he sneered in a low tone barely above a whisper. "I will cut out your tongue and your eyes if you do not honor your debts, you little Bantha-kriffer."

Meanwhile his pulse started racing and the hand with which he held the glass became clammy as well. The entire threat had been pure bluff. As pure as could be. Davik had never cut someone up. Never killed someone either. He didn't even carry a weapon with him. If Nor'baal ordered him to act out his threat he probably needed a whole lot of downers to even get through it.

Nor'baal the Hutt

 

[Nor'baal the Hutt]

Hm.

It was good to know he could order Davik to cut the fat human, and he would do it, Nor'baal decided. Now, whilst the debtor remained oblivious to the fact Nor'baal was not the Hutt to whom he owed the camtomo of crystals, the Hutt decided he need to make the most of the confusion, and move fast.

<There is no need for this to escalate, I am sure.> Nor'baal interceded, cautious that violence here could attract the authorities, and it was almost certain that this barman has some sort of deal going with them. He gestured for Davik to stand down, his threat made - no doubt the bloodthirsty killer would be eager to slit the barman from ear to ear however, should Nor'baal wish it?

"Look, there's been a misunderstanding. The camtomo its -" the fat man looked at Davik again, and gulped "Ok ok! Fine - I'll get it now, just, just wait here." slowly the fat man backed away, heading to get the camtomo as pledged.

Nor'baals eyes narrowed.

He jerked his thumb at Davik <Go with him.> he instructed, as if Davik had been on his employ for years.

 

[Davik Lorso]

Davik was immensily relieved when the Hutt told him to stand down. He didn't know what he would have done otherwise. On one hand he had only just met the Hutt so who cared if this business opportunity dried out within a day, right? On the other, if the Hutt took grievance with it Davik would be hunted down by the powerful Desilijic clan. Something he would not be able to survive. Not even with the help from Etti IV.

The fat man still squirmed and said something about getting the camtono from the back after just trying to argue that it wasn't there at all. Kriff, would he run one over on the Hutt?

Nor'baal seemed to have a similar thought to his own and instructed him to follow the fat man, which Davik did and as he just reached the sliding door that lead behind the bar, it shut on him and locked him out. "Kriffer!" Davik cursed, stepped back and then kicked the control panel with as much force as possible.

It didn't magically open, but it did cut off power supply to the door and that made it easier to push it open with his hands. "Uuuaah!" Davik roared as he pulled the heavy door opened with maximum exertion, getting it just wide enough for him to fit through.

Once through he rushed through a hallway, checking the doors on either side for signs of the fat man. The first door was storage, but in the second the fat man was trying to gather his things as quickly as he could.

"You don't understand!" he cried as he saw Davik in the opening, then quickly turned his head towards the camtono on the desk. Davik spotted it, too, and the both rushed it. Davik only beat him out by half a second as he grabbed the handle and swung is backwards out of the fat man's reach.

"I wasn't supposed to lose," he continued after quickly lurching back to put some distance between himself and the man he thought was a seasoned cartel assassin. "The Camtono isn't mine to lose. It's, It's-"

"It belongs to the Hutt now," Davik couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the man. He had once, too, gambled away the shipment belonging to some rich man with dangerous friends. You'll always get yourself one hand in every game of Sabacc that you are convinced could win you a moon.

Davik turned and walked out of the room, hearing the fat man plead one last time; "But they'll kill me and my sister."

Nor'baal the Hutt