Private Going On a Pyke Hunt

[Pal Veda]

Mos Espa, Tatooine
Docking Bay 42
On board the Rubicon

Folsite Mol. The hologram of the Pyke spun slowly in circles above the projector in the middle of the table. 100,000 credits floated above his head. 100,000 credits. Somebody was mad. "What have you done?" Veda wondered aloud.

He wouldn't wonder for very long. The outlaw accepted the incoming transmission, and the image of the Pyke instantly morphed into that of a large Devaronian. "Pal!" he greeted, "good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too, Radix." Radix Kane was an entrepreneur from Nar Shaddaa. He had a finger in every pie. He also had a fondness for working with Veda. "I have to say, I was surprised to hear from you on this one."

"No you're not. I haven't forgotten how Folsite double crossed you on Nal Hutta, and I know you haven't either." Kane was right, of course. "Plus, you're still guilded, and it's good money."

"Who did he screw over this time? The bounty chip doesn't say who posted it." That was not unusual with larger bounties.

"That's the fun part," Kane smiled. "Folsite screwed over the Pyke Syndicate. He started encroaching on other territories, including Xican's turf. Xican went to the Syndicate, and Folsite killed him for it. Now they all want his head."

"Serves him right. Any info on his last known location?"

"I hear he's actually headed here, to Nar Shaddaa. He’s traveling with a fortune and a small army with a plan to bribe the Hutts to protect him."

"A small army? I'm not the first person you called, am I?" Veda should have known.

The Devaronian let out a friendly laugh. "Third, actually."

"Who am I working with this time?"

"Remember that Duros hunter, Jon Dromon ? He's in."

Veda knew Dromon in passing and by reputation. "Great personality, that one," he joked.

"And a new kid, a Trandoshan named Fissk. Or Zissk? Rissk ? Eh, you'll met him soon enough, ask him yourself."

"You put a new kid on this job? Can he handle it?" Veda hated working with amateurs, but that was often unavoidable.

"We'll see, won't we?" Kane was ever the optimist.

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Coronet City, Corellia
In an alley
Outside a speeder

-BANG!-BANG!-BANG!-

This Lasat was hard-headed and had a hard head but that did not stop the Duros from banging the door of his speeder against his head. A bit violent but the man standing above the other man spoke to him in a pretty composed tone.

“Didn’t—” -BANG!- “—I—” -BANG!- “—Say—” -BANG!- “—To—” -BANG!- “—Not—” -BANG!- “—Run—” -BANG! “—From—” -BANG!- “—Jon—” -BANG! “—Dromon?”

His targets were idiots when they did and Jon Dromon showed them this.

-RING!-RING!-RING!-

Went the ringtone of the bounty hunter’s comlink. Letting his bounty bleed on the ground for a moment with a few quick kicks to his person, Jon promptly shifted back into his speeder and reached for his comlink, flipping it open to speak.

“Su’cuy?”

“Jonny boy!” Spoke the tone of a Devaronian who the Duros knew.

“Didn’t I say to not call me that?” Jon Dromon asked.

“Catch you at a bad time, buddy? You sound busy.”

Jon glanced back. His bounty wasn't moving. Just moaning. “Not really.”

“Good! Got a job for ya.” Radix gave Jon the deets. Bounty out on on a Pyke, Folsite Mol, 100,000 credits, two other hunters on the job given that the target had a small army to Nar Shaddaa to meet with Hutts to protect him from the Pyke Syndicate.

That pretty much meant all kinds of chit could happen and go wrong between all involved parties who generally didn’t like each other to begin with. The Pyke Syndicate and the Hutt Cartel did not necessarily get along and, when it came to criminals, nobody liked bounty hunters, including the bad ones.

Then again, Jon Dromon wasn’t bad at his job. He was just bad.

“I’ll take it. Where’s the meet?”

“You’ll meet with Veda and Fissk on a station called The Snatch in a cantina called Lock Stock. Folsite might stop or pass by for a resupply and you can ambush him before he makes it to Nar Shaddaa. If not, you’ll have to deal with him here, but it will be hot.”

“I know the business,” Jon sighed out cigarra smoke, planting a boot on his bounty’s back. “I live for this shit. But I gotta make a stop first. Have a bounty to drop off.”

-KICK!-

“Awww Jon Dromon. You old cold dog…”

-phone flip-

And Jon was off.

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

THE LOCK STOCK, CANTINA
'THE SNATCH'
​

The Lock Stock was as rough and tumble as shady bars came. It was a who's who of the nastiest, grimiest criminals on the way to the Smuggler's Moon. Poorly-lit, as if the owners didn't care if you could see your drinking buddies, or they liked it that way. Everybody had a blaster on their hip, everybody glared at you as if you'd kicked their akk dog, and everybody looked the type to have a bounty on their head in at least three systems.

Rissk had reserved a table for the team.

Well, reserved was a strong word. He'd walked in a couple hours before they were scheduled to meet, found an open mysterious corner booth, and sat down. He'd ordered a glass of water and a plate of cheesy nachos, and read his datapad.

He knew he was the rookie of the group. The broker had been very clear with him that he was the weak link. He also knew he was going to be the worst shot, the dumbest, the least experienced, a liability. So, the least he could do was show some initiative, and be as helpful as he could.

So he waited, looking up from his reading every so often, trying to seem as if he wasn't watching the doorway.

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

The kriffin Snatch! What a Sith hole! It had been a while since Veda visited the waystation. A great place to pick up jobs when he was green. But also a great place to get a hole through your chest. He tried to avoid it these days.

Veda walked through the station with his jacket collar raised, hoping to dodge attention without looking like he was trying to dodge attention. He made his way to the Lock Stock and stepped cautiously — but not too cautiously — through the doorway. Just as he remembered it. Dim and full of drunken scoundrels. Plenty of good-for-nothings looking to make a name for themselves, bragging about things they’d never done and jobs they’d never in a million years be hired for. Sure, there were a few gunslingers in here that may give him a run for his money, a few smugglers that could fly almost as well as he could. But they were no Pal Veda. He was one of one. And the blaster at his side kept him safe enough.

Jon Dromon was a badass. Literally. A cold ole dog that didn’t mind getting a little blood on his hands for credits. Veda didn’t trust him, but he respected his skills, and he suspected the job was hard enough and the payday big enough that Dromon wouldn’t screw them over. Veda looked around and saw a couple of blue boys hanging around the bar, but they weren’t the man he was meeting.

A young Trandoshan sat in a corner booth eating what passed as nachos in this joint. That must be Rissk . Veda headed his way, carefully dodging a Bith and a Zabrak getting into a shoving match. “You the new guy Radix told me about?” he asked as he approached the table. Without waiting on a response, he took a seat across from him, but leaned into the corner so he could still see the doorway. He discretely dropped a hand to his blaster and readied to draw it if this rendezvous got ugly. “Pal Veda,” he introduced himself.

 

[Die Shize]

oops

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

Lock, stock and two smoking barrels later and Jon Dromon delivered his bounty as promised. It got a bit messy. He was pretty dirty but he knew how to clean up the mess. The Lasat had friends who came to his defense but they met a quick end. The hunter didn’t play when it came to his blasters. Same went with his ship’s lasers.

Though the payment for Jon’s next job would fetch more than a pretty credit chit. Right, he would not be working alone on this one, but he could get along with others if they could get along with him. He wasn’t out to make friends. He more often than not made enemies even if unintended. Ultimately, he just hoped Pal Veda lived up to his reputation. As for Rissk, maybe he would finally end up with one after this.

The Snatch had plenty of scum in it already. Jon paid them no mind. If any looked his way amid his outfit then he didn’t much care about looking back. He had nothing to prove with his gaze. He did need a drink, though, so he approached the bar, tapped the counter, and waited. Viewscreen above it playing one sport or the other. Somebody crashed. Damn. That’ll leave a mark.

He paid his tab. Closed it. No need to leave it open. This might take some time for the target to arrive but he didn’t intend to be a drunken idiot when they did. The Duros walked along, gave no impression up to this moment that he had even spotted a table with his partners at it. He arrived the next moment, sat on one side, eyes to the viewscreen, hardly listening to the music. Yet it did set the mood for those tuned to it.

“Dromon,” Jon mentioned, sipping his rum, licking his lips. “Jon Dromon.”

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

Rissk scooped up his datapad the moment Pal sat down, studying him with reptilian, fiery eyes. "That'sss me. The new guy" A sibilant hiss caught his tongue, sounding more beast than man, despite the mildly nervous/excited youthfulness coloring everything else.

Briefly, the young hunter wondered whether he should put out a clawed hand to shake, or nod his head, or do a cool, disinterested wave... but he ended up just staring as the man introduced himself. "I'm Rissk." The Trandoshan smiled sharply, placing his datapad on his waist, next to his blaster shotgun, which was propped cozily on the booth beside him.

It wasn't long before the final member of their team revealed himself. The young hunter puffed himself up a little taller, tried to seem a little more relaxed by laying an arm over the booth's backrest. "Rissk." There was a pause. "Just Rissk. There's, ah... not two namesss to go along with- um..." He coughed into his hand. "Yeah."

"Our guy hasn't come in yet. Been watching the door." The Trandoshan let his gaze sweep the room suspiciously. "When he does get here, the acquisition'll have an army of goons. Any idea how three of us are gonna get through 'em?"

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

“Calm down, kid,” Veda responded, making sure not to touch Rissk’s nachos after seeing him cough in his hand. “Let’s have a drink before we get to business.” The surprising thing about the Lock Stock was the beer was always cold and the drinks always decent. He flagged a server droid—which seemed to be the only droids allowed in this joint—and tossed a couple credits onto the tray. “Grab me a Corellian ale, will ya? Maybe the same for my blue friend there. And something fruity with an umbrella for the lizard.” The droid beep booped away to get their beverages.

“First thing’s first. We aren’t taking Folsite in here. Most of these guys are spacers, smugglers, thieves. But I’d wager a few of them are bounty hunters just like you.” The server droid came rolling back over with their drinks, and Veda handed them out. He smiled at Rissk’s drink but had no doubt that it was actually going to be delicious. “The difference between us and them is that we know Folsite is going to stop in for a quick layover. They don’t. Get my drift?” He took a long sip of his beer before continuing. “We want to take him outside somewhere. I would say the docks, but he’s going to have more protection there. But he’ll no doubt leave some of his detail behind to guard his treasure while he ventures into the central station.”

”What say you, Jon? Any thoughts?”

Rissk Jon Dromon

 

[Jon Dromon]

Introductions given. Names exchanged. Obstruction in front of the Duros’ gaze as he watched the viewscreen from his seat. He gave the man a wave. The man got out of Jon's way. Dromon had listened as the Trandoshan in his midst mentioned his name. “Rissk.” He repeated without looking at his face. “No need for two names as long as you’re not a risk in this business.” Pun intended, but amusement wasn’t his intention.

The Trandoshan asked a question. The Duros thought it over but didn’t answer. He reckoned this cantina was as much a spot for the three hunters to finally meet up in person as it was a hunch that their target might pass through. Lock Stock did have its reputation for punks and thugs and persons of their caliber. However, it could be that the Pyke they needed to grab, bag and tag might simply pass by. So the Duros had his eyes on the door as much as what was beyond the wall.

He was also in no rush. The Human spoke next, Pal Veda, and his line was right given they were in a cantina. Rum in hand, Jon could actually have another, especially when he considered he wasn’t the one paying for the next one. “Rum,” he gestured toward the server. “Don Guapa.” It wasn’t expensive but it was delicious.

Pal spoke again. This man speaks my language. Though he could also end up dead. Reputations meant nothing in the end, for better or worse. Jon had long since learned that everybody was ultimately at the mercy of the galaxy, and it was at at the mercy of the universe. Nihilistic outlook, maybe, but that’s what made him good.

Lighting up a cigarra, the Duros never took his eyes away from the viewscreen despite listening to the other guy, ignoring every other thing in this cantina. “I say…” Dromon blew smoke, licked his lips. They tasted as spicy as his rum did amid the music and its drums. “The Pyke is desperate for protection. Sooner the better for him. He might have an errand here besides a resupply but you’re right about the docks. There will be a complement left at his ship. Though he isn’t a big enough idiot to go alone.”

Jon hoped his partners weren’t idiots either. “He won’t rent a hotel though. He’ll be in and out. We follow where he goes, we hit him fast, quiet or loud, before he gets a chance to return to his ship.” Jon slid his datapad across the tabletop. “It hasn’t docked yet. When it does, it’ll light up like Life Day, and we’ll be on our way.”

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

“Calm down, kid. Let’s have a drink before we get to business.”

Rissk frowned, but didn't say anything. He didn't like the idea of having any alcohol before a hunt as important as this one, but... he was new to this. The senior hunters knew better than he did.

Who knows, maybe it would help?

Listening as Pal answered his question, the young hunter curled up his nose at the fruity drink placed before him. Then, he gave it a sniff. It did smell good. He tried a sip of it, his lips puckering at the taste, before remembering to listen to the plan as it continued. Both senior hunters gave their two cents, and Jon in particular showed off his datapad. Rissk looked at it, fascinated. "Fancy."

Rissk frowned, crossing his lanky arms in front of himself. "If we don't bag him quickly or quietly enough, the ship guards will come and overwhelm us. We'll have to be fassst, not just in hitting him, but getting him to a ship, too."

"Easssy as pie." The Trandoshan projected a little confidence, nursing another sip of his drink.

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

“Easy as that drink’s going down,” Veda joked back, unable to resist. He never thought he’d see a Trandoshan bounty hunter drinking a boat drink. He was starting to like this new guy. Hopefully Rissk would make it out the other side of this.

He glanced up to see what had Dromon’s attention on the view screen. Podracing on Mustafar. “Got money on this or something?” he asked. Weird cat, Jon Dromon. Veda took another drink of his ale and leaned back.

”So when Jon’s datapad goes off, we make our way—very casually—back toward the dock.“ Veda assessed the three of them, then continued, “Jon wreaks of bounty hunter, and Rissk, well, no offense, but you’re the new guy. I can move freely around that area without drawing attention.“ Another sip. He was nearing the bottom. “We keep comms open, and you two find a position for an ambush as they make their way toward the central area of the Snatch.“

As Veda started to signal the server droid, his attention was drawn back to the table. The datapad was lighting up like Life Day.

Jon Dromon Rissk

 

[Jon Dromon]

Nothing fancy about his pad, this establishment or his drink in hand. Jon Dromon wasn’t one to flash his gadgets or his badass prowess when it came down to it. What came down the next moment was more liquor to coat his throat. The rum wasn’t highest in credits, was decent in deliciousness, wasn’t greatest in alcohol content, not that it would matter much.

Some species, like Zeltron and Devaronian, were designed to hold their alcohol. Others, like the Duros, like this Duros in particular, gained their intolerance for it over time and participation. For Jon Dromon, a few shots just came with the business, but he wasn’t so sure about the ‘kid’ or Rissk in his midst. But the Trandoshan sure as chit wasn’t an idiot.

“No money on this. Just something to watch,” Jon answered honestly when it came to the podrace. What was weird to him was being questioned over what he was watching when watching sports on a viewscreen in a cantina was as normal as drinking tequila or rum for that matter. It was a far better sight than his two accomplices, that was for sure.

“Reeks of bounty hunter, is it?” Veda’s comment gave Jon some pause. He wasn’t one to take offense, and he didn’t, but he was one to provide correction when the occasion called for it. He felt like it did. “And what is it about my outfit that suggests anything about my person or reputation?” He flicked ash from his cigarette.

It was a grey everyday outfit, but ‘bounty hunter’ wasn’t written on the back of his jacket or his countenance. Nobody looked at him and saw Jon Dromon. They just saw a Duros. This wasn’t a racist statement. One Duros looked the same as the other in this crazy galaxy as much as a Human looked like a Human, maybe.

“I’ll entertain your strategy, Pal,” emphasis on ‘Pal’. “But you got a lot riding on you if you let us down.” He never took his gaze off of the podrace. The responsibility now weighed on Veda’s shoulders to lead their target into the ambush. If he botched the job, cost Jon his credits, he might just become Dromon’s next target.

Fancy datapad flashes like Life Day the next moment.

“Well hell.” The bounty hunter downed his rum. He was hardly buzzed, just enough, but a buzz could quickly wear off before ever getting drunk. “Let’s do this. Time to snatch our target.” Out of Lock Stock, into The Snatch, and their target would regret it if he tried to run from anyone in this bunch.

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

“Easy as that drink’s going down,”

Rissk narrowed his eyes at the human for a moment, trying to decide if he was being made fun of, before letting a serpentine smile through. "It ain't that bad. Sssweet." He did like sweet.

Pal brought attention to his inexperience again, and Rissk's smile sharpened. He wasn't ashamed by the fact. But he let the man and Jon argue about appearances, instead taking one last bite of his nachos, and thinking about the proposed plan.

“I’ll entertain your strategy, Pal. But you got a lot riding on you if you let us down.”

The Trandoshan chuckled a little, leaning back in his seat. "For what it's worth, I believe in you. But... Thisss plan does fall apart if you fail. No pressure."

The datapad lit up. Rissk's smile widened. "Showtime." Rissk stood slowly, reaching his hands up to crack his back, and slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. He struck up a confident, relaxed pose, before shrugging his shoulders.

"And... to address the rancor in the room... Thanks, for letting me tag along. I know I'm... new... But I'll do my best to earn my cut."

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

Showtime was right. Veda polished off his drink and stood with the other two. “Comms open. I’ll split with you at the door and keep you in the know.” When they exited the Lock Stock, Veda took a right and walked ahead of his partners. Plenty inside had seen them sitting together, but they paid no mind. Better to move solo outside just in case.

As Veda strolled toward the dock, he passed a vendor selling random clothes and accesories. He stopped to buy a neutral colored, lightweight scarf and tied it around his neck, partially concealing his face. He also bought a dumb looking gray helmet and popped it on his head. One thing he had not mentioned to the crew is that he knew Folsite Mol personally. It had been sometime since they’d seen each other—not since the Pyke screwed him out of about fifty thousand credits on a delivery to Nal Hutta a few years back. Maybe the scumbag wouldn’t remember him. Either way, he wouldn’t recognize him in this getup.

The part time bounty hunter slowed to a casual pace as he neared the dock, already seeing that Folsite’s men were moving about. “I’ve got five, no, six guys near the entrance to the spaceport,” Veda said into the comm. “Armed with carbines, light armor. Looks like they came in early in a separate transport to scope it out.“

He took a seat, leaning back and crossing his legs, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Target has landed,“ he noted, admiring the beautiful luxury yacht sitting a couple hundred meters away. “Exiting his ship now. I’ll let you know when he’s on the move.”

Rissk Jon Dromon




ooc: apologies in advance, may be slow to post for next few days, especially Wed-Sat.

 

[Jon Dromon]

The rest of the conversation ended, Jon nodded, offered silent compliance, and stepped to the left instead of the right past the exit of Lock Stock. The Snatch was a whole greater station beyond this cantina. Similar to any city, really. It was just contained, with a ceiling instead of a sky, with corridors for streets, which often meant pedestrian traffic over vehicles, but not always.

Despite the dialogue in the establishment, Jon wasn’t one to not give credit where it was due. Pal Veda was a man who knew how to move. He had a plan. Whether it failed or succeeded was on his shoulders for the initial duration of this operation. Still, he had his own reputation and, if they captured their target alive or had to kill him, the Duros had no doubt that the Human would do what was expected of him.

The Trandoshan? A new recruit. But an eager one. Jon thought as the pair of them walked along. They didn’t talk much. Dromon wasn’t one to talk unless he had something to say. He’d rather get on the way. Finding a vantage for an ambush would be a piece of cake within the docks. The problem was making sure it wasn’t too public and in not knowing where their target might venture beyond.

“Got it,” Jon responded into his comm as to the assessment of six henchmen. Carbines. Light armor. No matter. The bounty hunter thought given he was armed with his own gadgets. A carbine in his long jacket. “We’re in position.” The rest was a waiting game. Jon had since communicated for Rissk to get behind crates in a shorter corridor similar to an alleyway.

For his part, Dromon was hidden at the edge of a maintenance elevator. It was higher above the Trandoshan’s head and provided them both with separate perspectives. “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” He lit a cigarette, made sure to blow the smoke away from where someone could glimpse it.

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

Walking along the closed corridors of the space station, Rissk tried to seem nonchalant, his blaster shotgun resting over his shoulders, arms draped over each end like a cross on his back. The truth was... he was a little nervous. But Pal and Jon seemed entirely unfazed. For them, it was a day like any other.

Relax, he thought to himself, a smile pulling at his face. Everything will work out. You'll see.

Soon enough, it was time for their team to split. Rissk nodded at the Duros, peeling away from the others to find a seat behind a stack of crates, protected from their target's line of sight. It was a respectable ambush position, he thought. "Good to go," he added into his comm, keeping his own communique as brief as he could.

Propping his shotgun up against his seat, the Trandoshan folded his hands, staring down at the ground with intense focus in his furnace eyes.

You're watching, right? If you are... bless this hunt. I need it.

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

Cool as a cucumber. Besides being incredibly handsome, Veda looked no different than the rest of the spacers hanging around the Snatch. And the goofy helmet and scarf covered that up. He popped a nic-pouch in his mouth while he waited. This was the easy part of the job. Once the waiting was over, the action, the excitement, that was the hard part.

“Four of the advance team are moving out,” he noted to his teammates, inconspicuously holding his hand in front of his mouth as he spoke. “Two lagging behind with the target. He also has four more with him from the yacht.“ Now this was interesting. “Two are Pykes, but two are . . . Mandalorians.” Ole Folsite wasn’t dumb. Two heavily armored, heavily armed mercs with an allegiance to money. More trustworthy in this situation than his Pyke footsoldiers. There was always the chance that they could be influenced by the Syndicate, with all the family ties and old alliances in that ancient criminal enterprise.

Veda kept watching, keeping tabs on the advance men as they passed. “First four just came through, headed toward the center. Let them pass.” Ideally, they would have taken the initial party out now while they were separated. But if they had open comms, that would immediately spook the bounty, and they would miss their chance.

The Pyke traitor was taking every precaution. Finally, Folsite, the four Pyke henchmen, and the two Mandos made their way to the exit of the dock. A blaster pistol would not draw any attention here. It was more noticeable to not be carrying. But this group stood out. They looked like they were prepared for war instead of a quick refuel and resupply. “Target plus six heading out now.”

Veda let them pass, noticing both Mandalorians check him out as they walked by. These mercs were going to be a problem. Once they were a comfortable distance away, he stood from his seat, tossed his nic-pouch, and lost the helmet and scarf. Change things up before he started tailing them. ”I’m bringing up the rear, about forty meters behind.”

——————
Jon Dromon Rissk

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Jon inconspicuously held his hand in front of his mouth, a cigarra between fingers, blowing smoke nonchalantly into the distance; a haze that mirrored how unfazed he was as it disappeared into the inexistent wind. Mandalorians. They were warriors to be reckoned with in his experience. However, when they served as mercenaries, that meant they were generally in the business for the credits as much as the pleasure. So they weren’t much different to him.

For this mission, communication needed to be brief and key to the circumstances. Chatter had to be cut if it was mindless. Jon’s wasn’t. “Mandalorians noted,” he responded, his gaze flirting between the ceiling for a sky and the alleyway at his side. “First four coming through. Letting them pass.” Really, speaking like this was just a matter of acknowledgment.

As predicted, weapons wouldn’t draw much attention. It didn’t matter that Rissk had been carrying a shotgun over his shoulder or not. In plenty of places within this galaxy, armed carry was an expectation as much as permitted. In this space station? It was the very element that added to its reputation.

Truly, Snatch was as much Lock Stock and two smoking barrels when the occasion called for it.

It did.

“Target plus six,” Jon acknowledged. “Forty meters and counting.” He blew smoke, one last time, and flicked his cigarette. Six targets became ten. Jon did the math in an instant. Four combatants moved ahead. Two stayed with the true target. Another two were Pykes with the targeted Pyke. Two were Mandalorians. 4+2+2+2 meant ten or eleven when you counted Folsite Mol who could be just as dangerous in the end.

That was if Jon Dromon had the math as accurately as counting a bantha’s droppings and, maybe, there was a story in there somewhere for another occasion which wasn’t this one.

“It’s good to be nervous,” Jon suggested to Rissk, even though he never was in his experience. “But don’t let fear or excitement make you squeeze the trigger too early.” Or else you become my target. “Wait for it. Then we ambush. I’ll tell you when right beside our friend.”

The first four defenders passed by Jon’s position on his left. Beneath him was Rissk. On his right was Folsite, four Pykes and two Mandalorians. There was a reason Jon was in this position, with vantage as his advantage. He was experienced with blasters as much as explosives. He was a kriffing bounty hunter for crying out loud.

“Ready to throw down,” he spoke low into his comm. “Ball’s in your court, Pal. Say the word and we burn.”

Pal Veda Rissk

 

[Rissk]

His prayer didn't do much to still his nerves. It didn't help that, from his vantage point, he couldn't see anything going on. There was nothing he could to but wait for updates on his comms, and that made him antsy. There were a lot of guards protecting the target, even some Mandos. He had a lot riding on this. He couldn't afford to mess it up. Not when...

“It’s good to be nervous. But don’t let fear or excitement make you squeeze the trigger too early. Wait for it. Then we ambush. I’ll tell you when right beside our friend.”

"Yeah." The Trandoshan picked up his shotgun, taking solace in the feel of wood against his palms. "Yeah. Okay."

He didn't catch any of the 'or else' in Jon's tone. Only the advice. Wait until the right moment, then strike.

Rissk tensed, reptilian eyes dilating in focus, gathering up his energy.

"Happy hunting."

- Pal Veda - Jon Dromon -

 

[Pal Veda]

Veda continued tailing the crew, moving casually and pretending not to notice when one of the Mandalorians turned to assess the rear. They were almost in position. He kept his right hand at his side, but he did not reach for his blaster yet.

Of course he had ideas on how to deal with the four at the front, now past the ambush position. But communicating all of that to his team in the moment wouldn’t work. He would just have to trust Dromon and Rissk knew what they were doing. If they didn’t do something, the two would be trapped in the middle, taking heat from both sides. The goal was the opposite — to trap Folsite and his goons between them.

Veda stopped at a corner and removed a small concussive charge from the pocket on his belt. Non-lethal, non-destructive, but would stun, maybe KO, anyone in the immediate blast zone. He placed it on the corner of a building at a cross-path between the main thoroughfare and an alley, then ducked to the other side and placed his back against the wall. Now he drew his blaster.

“They’re in position, go!”


———
Rissk Jon Dromon