Mr. Usher
Don't Mind if I Do
FIRST REPLY, OPEN TO ALL
The pitter-patter of rain accompanied the sound of soaked soles squelching on the sidewalks and gangways of Coruscant.
A figure of a man limped awkwardly, as if inebriated, along, occasionally turning, searching to see if they were followed. The harsh lighting from the streetlights and signs kept his face shadowed, only lit faintly when the cigarette in his mouth shines slightly brighter with each inhale.
The figure crossed underneath the traffic of speeders, meeting his contact under a bridge. An item, a particularly valuable and difficult find, was procured and handed to his contact, both nodding wordlessly. The contact was nearly identical to the courier, eerily shuffling in separate ways with the same awkward gait.
The two figures were one, after all. Mr. Usher was merely transporting the prize from one body of his to another. The courier returned the way he came, puffing the cigarette once more before reaching to take and snuff the cigarette.
The think, translucent skin of his hand clearly showed the shifting muscles underneath, the fingers were closer to tendrils, wrapping around the cigarette and and pulling it from the crude mimicry of a human mouth, tossing it aside onto the street.
Mr. Usher, the courier, hesitated, tilting his head. "Littering. Did I used to care about trash? Maybe one of the fresh contributions felt strongly about such." The streets were dirty enough; it was a silly thing to waste brainpower on, but Mr. Usher felt a need to wash this drone's hands.
Especially when someone has been following him for the last three blocks.
Mr. Usher wrapped his prehensile fingers around the holdout blaster in his jacket pocket and called out into the rainy night from under the bridge: "C'mon out, fella, let's have a chat"
