Private For a Fistful of Cred-chits

[Dante Iblis]

Ord Mantell - Orbit

♪ have some ambience, why don't ya? ♪
​

Smoke filled the dingy cantina air. The faint barroom lights were muddied and diluted to a point that it was troublesome to make out the face of the reprobate one seat over.

But that was how Seluseus Krönch liked it, Dante knew. The Barabel spent every off-hour wasting away in these types of joints, filling his guts with rivers of the cheapest drink credits could buy and spending any left-overs getting his mind blown by the latest strain of spice to hit the market. It was pitiable.

Dante watched the Barabel from a booth across the cantina's deserted dance floor. He was idly rolling a glass of rotgut in between his hands. The first of the evening. Condensation from the cooled alcohol dampened his palms.

The large frame of the former Shockboxer turned Dante's Manager was unmistakable, even through the spice haze permeating the cantina. The Barabel downed another cup down his hatch and slammed the empty mug onto the counter. He shook his head violently from side to side, making the fat covering his chin and neck undulate.

"Another!" The Barabel yelled.

He was putting on an air of confidence for the two men seated next to him. Whether these were new investors, or established business partners, or simply gambling buddies he was attempting to swindle, Dante didn't know.

Dante's finger traced the fresh scar on his lower arm. A reminder of his most recent fight against the King of Kaas City's arena.

Seluseus didn't pay him to know things. He paid him to put up a show and lose fights.

Just do as I say kid, and you'll make it big. It's what all the pros do, trust me. The Barabel had told Dante before his first professional fight.

He'd lost that fight, of course. He'd been too naive to know better. It was on purpose, against some second-rate, washed out degenerate spacer in some obscure third-rate cantina's local shockboxer's league. Seluseus had played up Dante's skills before the fight, even made up a fake record of victories, to work the bets in Dante's favour. Then he'd bet four-to-one odds against his own Shockboxer under a false name, and when the bell rang and Dante was counted down and out, the fat Barabel had walked out twenty-hundred cred sticks richer.

From the other side of the cantina dance floor Seluseus let out a half-laugh half-gargle through those fattened gills of his.

Dante drummed his fingers against the glass, sending small ripples across the gold-ambrosia surface of liquid.

That fat Barabel had to die.

Tonight.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

They say you can judge a man and the occasion by the drink.

Beer is the small-talk's best friend. Drink it without much of a thought, like water. A new ship, a new speeder, a catch-up between friends--all these mundane occasions that were only elevated by the free beer served. Whiskey, Corellian whiskey to be precise, well depending on the brand and, of course, its attached price tag, but it was usually the go-to gift or a smuggler's long haul wind down beverage.

But rotgut?

That was reserved for the slimy goons, acting like they had the Force by the balls. A crook's drink, and not the dastardly scoundrel-type that Dash fell into, but the crook who beats their chests every kriffin' time they pull a number. Greaseballs and the like.

Dash Farstar eyed the drunken Barabel from the corner of his vision as he idly flipped a coin with his thumb. Sleepless, the smuggler was simply killing time until his eyes would start shutting on their own; this night's patrons hardly seemed to be the kind to offer an adequate job. Maybe a visit to the Come Right Inn was on the cards, but something seemed to keep his feet planted in this chitty watering hole.

Call it a Corellian's gut.​

Dante Iblis

 

[Dante Iblis]

Seluseus didn't know Dante had followed him. He'd come right to the cantina after their shouting match earlier in the day, after taking all credits for himself, despite Dante's protests about drinking away their profits.

Dante raised the glass to his lips as he observed Seluseus go about his routine in ignorance. The intense stench of rotgut burned his nose. He downed the whole drink in one go, working to keep down the foulest-tasting alcohol this side of Corellia.

Whatever Seluseus saw in this drink, Dante couldn't tell. It was revolting. It dulled the senses, and it didn't even have the grace to be mild-tasting enough to not offend those dulled senses.

Dante stared through the glass and listened to Seluseus spin another tale about his shockboxing days. About how he'd taken on two opponents in a handicap match and come out on top through some fictitious technique. The same bullchit he'd said to a younger Dante back when he was still a farmhand on his dad's farm, and like that kid, the Barabel's friends were buying it.

The rotgut burned down his insides slowly, and the taste faded into false courage and revolting lightness.

Regrets and a future full of dead dreams. That's what Seluseus' stories had brought Dante. It's what they would bring anyone. Men like Seluseus, addicts of the most depraved kind, chiteaters who survived by preying on others, Dante had seen plenty of them back home. He'd left plenty of those deadbeats bloodied and bruised back then.

Dante set down the glass and got up from the booth's seat. He threw up his hood and started towards the cantina door.

"Dante, is that you?" The gargled voice of Seluseus called out. "Dante, get over here!"

Dante froze mid-step. He felt the sweat appear on his skin as the rush of alcohol disappeared from one moment to the next. He turned, his stomach twisting as he locked eyes with the Barabel.

"Good lad, Dante, at least your ears haven't stopped working!" The Barabel croaked. "Unlike that lazerbrain of yours!" He turned to the two patrons next to him, "can you believe it? That pathetic pile of chit couldn't follow instructions if his life depended on it!"

"This kid's going to be the ruin of me," Seluseus continued. "Cost me ten grand just last week, that incompetence of his! I do everything for him as his manager, and he repays me with this travesty! Utter waste of oxygen!" He gurgle-laughed as he downed another drink. The two fellows by his side snickered quietly into their glasses.

Dante's heart raced, and his breaths came deep and heavy. His hands curled and uncurled. Against the backdrop of heavy smoke and cutting laughter, he saw red.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

At this hour of the night, booze had already killed most of the patrons either by sending them off elsewhere or crashing their faces on the table, slurping their own ooze on the tables. The tunes of the band were only an irritating memory dinning in the ears. Dash could hardly miss the Barabel's shouting or his conversation for that matter -- alcohol really had a way of turning up one's speech volume.

The bartender at the other end of the cantina rolled his eyes, carrying on with his meticulous wiping of a glass. Not the first time he'd seen this particular scene play out. Not Dash's either. Dupe managers fixing dupe fights with dupe fighters. Tale as old as time in this shady corner of the galaxy.

But this time...

The coin fell to a stop on his fist.

This time the leash did not move the dog.

Dante Iblis ​

 

[Dante Iblis]

"Shut your mouth, you oversized monkey-lizard," Dante hissed through grit teeth.

"Oh, little akk hound found his bark?" Seluseus clapped one of his fellow patron's shoulder and pointed at Dante.

"You should have seen that little blood sucker cry his eyes out when he said goodbye to his mother," Seluseus laughed with derision. The Barabel turned back to Dante, and opened his mouth to speak, but Dante had cleared the room to knock Seluseus off his chair with one clean punch.

The fingers in Dante's fist throbbed, gaze firmly locked on the downed Seluseus. The Barabel reeled from the shock, whether concussed or too surprised that the air of arrogance had been knocked out of him, Dante didn't care. His blood boiled with anticipation. Somewhere behind him, the bartender's yelling got drowned out by the fast throb of his heartbeat pumping and the ringing in his ears.

Dante grabbed Seluseus by the collar and dragged the oversized Barabel across the floor. Seluseus clawed at Dante's arms with startled futility. Small gashes bled red where the claws sunk into skin, but the shockboxer didn't relent. He brought the lizard off the ground a few inches and hurled him right into the closest table, its lone occupant, the sleepy spacer and his special coin, be damned. It broke with a crash.

"You filthy worm, listen," Dante snapped at the reeling Barabel, folded under the two halves of a broken table. "I'm done cleaning up your chit. You're not draggin me down with you any longer. I quit."

His fists shook and his breaths came deep and heavy. The muscles of his jaw were set taught, and he watched the Barabel disdain. A year's worth of hatred all coalesced into a singular purpose. Freedom.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

It didn't help Dash's feet were on the table, rocking back and forth on the chair like a third-grader who had recently discovered this new mind-blowing, pioneering, trail-blazing attraction. The loud crash with which the saurian was brought down by his fighter, hurled Dash from his chair and down on the sticky floor of the cantina.

"Ouch!" he groaned, squinting his eyes in pain. Beside him, his lucky coin was swirling around its axis. Its eerie sound seemed to rattle with anticipation as if it would decide the Barabel's fate. The coin finally dropped with a loud ting, heads face up.

The saurian had bet on tails.

Dash caught two figures hurrying away from the cantina--the Barabel's friends. His mouth opened wide as revelation dawned upon him -- a job had finally presented itself. The smuggler snatched the lucky coin from the floor and scurried up to his feet.

"Hey--" the Corellian rose his arms in surrender, not betting on his odds to survive a hook from the now-free fighter. "--you seen these guys he was courting?" Dash poked a thumb over his shoulder. "Those are bad news, pal. Bad news."

"They've been in town for over a week, looking for, well... word is -- they're slavers." he said in a hushed tone. Not that the Empire cared--slavery was not illegal this side of the galaxy--but for some reason the rumor peddlers had talked about the two mysterious figures with a lowered voice. "If I was you, I'd be in orbit by now, jumping to the other side of the galaxy."

Dante Iblis ​

 

[Dante Iblis]

The Barabel rolled from side to side, weakly grabbing for something to hold onto in a disoriented stupor. He lay in a mess of broken table pieces, collecting small shards in his sides as he turned back and forth.

Dante breathed hard. That bastard, Seluseus, he was laying belly up, completely defenceless. After years of holding his power over Dante, now the fat lizard had finally slipped and lost it all. Or, more accurately, Dante had broken the legs out from under him.

Near the cantina entrance, two sets of footfalls disappeared as the doors swivelled open and closed again. Seluseus friends had fled. Figures, corruption and some credits don't create lasting bedfellows.

"Hey--"

Dante shot a glance in the spacer's direction. The man was a witness, but he wasn't a threat. And if his words rang true, maybe he meant to be an ally.

An ally, yeah. Dante looked back at Seluseus. The Barabel's breathing came thin and he wheezed feebly. He was dying.

The realization struck Dante. He'd been angry, yes. He'd had every right to be angry towards that abusive piece of chit. But killing another being ...

Dante's hands clenched, his breath came shallow.

He'd killed a man. On purpose or not, that Barabel was dying right there on the floor. He'd become a criminal, a murderer, in the blink of an eye.

He had to get out of here.

Dante knelt down next to the Barabel, and started rummaging around in his inner pockets. The bastard always kept the credits from their—from Dante's—winnings somewhere in his jacket.

Feebly, the Barabel grabbed Dante's arm, still trying to resist.

Dante nearly jumped. He exhaled a sharp breath, then struck Seluseus' throat. It collapsed with a sickening crunch. The Barabel lay motionless against the floor after that. With a quick hand, Dante slipped a wallet from the Barabel's jacket and got up without missing a beat. He tossed a few cred-chips the spacer's way.

"Take me on your ship. I don't care where. Just get me out of here," he tried to be commanding, but his voice shook. "You have a ship right?"

The cantina had gone dead silent. Not even the barman made a sound.

Dash Farstar

 

[Dash Farstar]

The grim crack of the Barabel's throat resounded across the cantina louder than a destroyer's engine roaring into ignition and made Dash jump in his own skin. He blinked, still trying to process what had just happened when the clink of cred-chips in his hands snapped him back to reality. He counted the chips with his thumb and a ludicrous grimace puckered his face.

"Hey, this ain't gonna cut--" Dash started to protest, but curled down in silence upon seeing the man looming over him. He was probably the same height as Dash, maybe even shorter, but to the craven smuggler: the loud snap of the Barabel's neck--still ringing in his ears--elevated the fighter to the size of a Coruscani cloudcutter.

" 'course I do!" the scoundrel took the man's question as a personal affront, but slightly exaggerating the offence he'd taken as to appear far more imposing than he actually was. Swooping the creds into his pocket, he motioned to the fighter to follow him as he hurried towards the exit. "Name's Dash Farstar -- best pilot, this side of the galaxy."

He had started talking, weaving tales of the Nova Run, the Ghost Nebula, and more; some were half-lies, others were half-truths. He'd spewed those stories so many times he had started to believe he was Danger Arceneau 's cousin. It was just one of his coping mechanisms when fear veiled his vision and he needed a clear mind.

Suddenly, from behind, blaster fire boomed and flashed red a hairbreadth away from his neck.

"This way!" Dash turned a sharp left headed to Landing Pad 171 where the Empress Teta was docked.

Someone was giving the two a relentless chase.​

Dante Iblis