Gotta Come Out Sometime... (Open)

[Ben Corscifine]

Ben Corscifine had fallen into a monotonous routine.

The days had bled together since he imposed upon himself an exile from the Jedi Order. The galaxy had changed while Ben was drifting through the darker, farther reaches of the galaxy, and, for the first time since he had arrived for his training, most of the political goings-on in the systems beyond his nose passed largely unnoticed by the young Jedi.

Ben wondered if he could even still call himself a Jedi--he was trained in the Jedi arts, but had never even taken the title of Jedi Knight. More damning, however, was the fact that he had, while in exile, made it a habit not to call upon the Force to aid him. He kept his lightsaber hidden, and had even taken to using a blaster as his primary weapon when running jobs for various criminal organizations in the down-and-out and too-far-gone systems that he passed through. He had had little to go on at first but a few contacts that he had gotten from Justice Shipping. With those first jobs, he had fallen into the rhythm of a mercenary. The life he led was a far cry from the future he had envisioned for himself when he began training with the Jedi Order.

Here he was, years later, more scoundrel than sage. But, as in his previous life, succeeding at anything was better than emptily pursuing nothing. It suited him to be a trusted hand on a smuggling operation, however dulled he may have felt being cut off from the Force.

It was, in fact, a referral from one of the spice "merchants" on Nar Shaddaa that had pointed Ben in the direction of this day's job: He was being hired to assist the Crooked Claw, a local gang that made its fortune demanding tribute from shopkeepers in this quarter of the city, in dealing a blow to a rival crime outfit that was encroaching on their relatively compact territory. The specifics of the turf dispute were of little interest to Corscifine, but he would see to it that his employers' claim came out ahead, whoever this rival boss may be.

(OOC: This is a thread largely to begin an adversarial relationship between Ben and [member="Darth Grimoire"], but feel free to jump in if you want to be a member of the mercenary company or be involved in some other capacity).

 

[Aeron Iodine]

Aeron sat in the cockpit of his YT-1930 freighter the soar of its orange lit engines tearing through the ship, The cockpit was beaming with bright lights, Control switches, Tools for repairing the ship, Scorch marks, loose wires and of course a datapad filled with coordinates, dates, and areas of interest surrounding a huge operation that was about to go down. Aeron's intel was usually accurate and that was no small part due to the fact his knowledge came from the crime syndicates themselves. He was infamous for his spying techniques, planting listening devices, "Convincing" goons and thugs to go traitor No matter how he got his information he got it and he almost always walked away with a few hundred or occasionally thousand credits.

He would have been the wealthiest slack job in the galaxy by now if he didn't have to spend his credits on tying up loose ends, Modifications, Bribes, and of course liquor. He had a sort affinity for the stuff ever since he was 24 and now he was hooked but he never seemed to care. He kept his ships speed in check as he entered the atmosphere of the planet taking extra care not to be spotted by any of the syndicates or law enforcement. He had illegal modifications to his ship to make it faster which he coincidentally stole from a few dozen crime lords.

He attached his ship to the side of an abandoned trade building as to not be spotted by anyone, He was too weary of landing in public spaces due to his reputation and felt this was a smart move on his part. He jumped out of his chair and adjusted his brown leather jacket and blaster holsters. He took out his blow torch and carefully cut a hole in the wall of the trade center sparks spewing from the incision as the fire melted through the metal. Aeron kicked the circle in and crawled inside the building the light managing to shine through the boarded up windows providing his only company.

The inside was dark and filthy rats and other creatures scrouging for food in the dusty cavern. The place was trashed like the inhabitants were exiting in a hurry but upon closer inspection, he realized that it was scavengers who carried out the destruction, No doubt looking for classified files or Intel to sell on the black market. He made his way to the side of the center and shot the wooden boards blocking the entrance to the inside. Aeron holstered his blaster and made his way towards the market complex where perhaps millions of inhabitants traded with one another while some argued about what they claimed to be absurd prices.

Aeron found his way to a perch high above the action and took out his binoculars searching for any sign of discrepancy. With the thousands of people flooding the area finding his target would be challenging if not impossible. He frequently checked between his timetable and the sights he had on the area hoping to see a connection between the two. Tired of waiting he reached into his bag and pulled out 3 silver disks with 1 small red light in the center of each, They floated off the ground and had small hidden cameras on them ripe for surveillance.

"Go! Deploy into the market and report to me what you see."

He hand gestured towards the complex and the droids were off ready to show their worth.

[member="Ben Corscifine"]

[member="Darth Grimoire"]

 

[Cale Gunderson]

Nar Shaddaa, Sometime During the Day, Marketplace
_________________________________________


Cale was a lot like [member="Ben Corscifine"], he'd been a Jedi once. Unlike the rogue padawan he'd made Knight, he'd taught a pupil, he'd been a good soldier. Then, it turned out his entire life had been a ruse, and the implanted deep inside his consciousness had been One Sith programming. He'd been a puppet for a good long while, then he'd hidden in the Galactic Alliance and tried to redeem himself. What ended up happening was he eventually blew his cover, lit up his lightsaber, and ended up losing his arm, in a manner that was irreplaceable. Now his quest to make a difference in spite of the Silver Jedi's efforts to keep him imprisoned in a gilded cage had devolved into simply existing.

It was hard to make a damn bit of change on your own especially when crippled, but it wasn't hard to fall into bad habits as he'd learned. Drinking, stimsticks, spice here and there, it all had become a regular occurrence in his life, it was all that kept the nightmares and visions at bay after all. Nar Shaddaa had quickly become a regular stop on his treks across space, there was no better place to find his vices, and no better place to find employment.

So far he'd kept his nose mostly clean, he'd smuggled some spice here and there, but the second slaves had been brought into question he'd refused. Had actually given an anonymous tip to a group of ex-special forces type vigilantes who had a particular disdain for slavers. It should've resulted in a price on his head given he was the only likely suspect, but thankfully the group didn't leave much in the way of survivors. Today though thankfully wasn't about work, it was just about tihar. He knew a Kel Dor who always had the Mandalorian liquor in stock and never tried to screw him on the price, all he had to do was get in and buy his booze, then he'd be gone.

Cale just had to keep his head down like always, his signature in the force was dull and muddled thanks to the substance abuse, and he didn't have a lightsaber to whip out on an impulse anymore. He just had to not get involved, swallow his pride when he saw any of the thousands of injustices plaguing the streets, and not make himself stand out.

Years after his separation from the order, and such demands still were almost too much for him to bear. Typical.

[member="Aeron Iodine"]
[member="Darth Grimoire"]

 

[Ben Corscifine]

The party that the Crooked Claw had assembled for the occasion was made up of members who were, on average, more Claw loyalists than Ben. Easy to do, sure, given that the young man had never worked for these people before, but it appeared to Ben that the others were more than just first-timers and sell-swords. One tip was the way they had been dressed—most of the others at the rendezvous point wore a blue pin somewhere on their clothing, a not-so-secret calling card for the Claw. A pair of battle-scarred, green Rodians bearing that marker had scowled at Corscifine when he approached the edge of the market. It’s possible that the recognized him from the dossier he had been compelled to provide for to the Claw contact who hired him for the job.

Ben’s contact had failed to mention the karking pin.

Well…maybe they have extra. Ben thought sardonically.

His initial orders were simple: Mill in the marketplace until a signal was given to accost and interrogate a shopkeeper who had betrayed the Claw in favor of their target. The very surreptitious signal, Ben had been told, would be several Crooked Claw grunts throwing flashing thermal detonators into the shop. Not the greatest plan, perhaps, or at least not the one Ben would have come up with on his own, but that was not the young exile's problem. Ben did not much care for this kind of work, but credits had become harder and harder to come by. With any luck, Ben would be able to hang back and avoid drawing a weapon or using force at all until it was other criminals against whom he would be visiting violence.

Speaking of using force. Ben had to be careful not to use the Force if the going got rough. In his day-to-day, Ben hadn’t had much trouble avoiding calling for the aid of his Jedi training. In combat, however, Ben’s instincts took a much more primary seat in his mind. He had slipped up a few times since he had been in hiding, though luckily no one strong enough in the Force to notice had cared enough to call him out. For now, Ben used his simple, human senses to scan the crowd in the marketplace. The target shop was small, but had a true interior with a front door and everything (unlike some of the shabby stalls that were erected in this quarter). It appeared that they sold exotic curiosities from other worlds. Ben couldn’t help but wonder whether he might find something in there from Lothal or Ilum that would bring him memories of his time as a Jedi.

Better not to wonder about such things, he chastised in his mind, and placed himself nearby, and began a small conversation with the older woman manning the food stall down the street a ways.

 

[Riley Reese]

Turf disputes, not exactly something Riley normally got involved in, or paid much attention to honestly. Today was different, however, as the credits were good and she got to pay off a favor are in one shot. That and work had been slow for the past week or so.

Her black and green cybernetic eyes watched the crowd momentarily before turning in the direction of a Rodian nearby. He was a member of the Crooked Claws, a local gang and current employer. Several other members milled about the market, all easily identified by the blue pin they wore. A blue pin in which Riley was never given to start with. She did wonder if that was actually intentional.

She broke her gaze with the Rodian and began to move about the market. Even though she was carefully watching for the signal, she couldn't help but be curious about the sites and sounds around her. The last time she had been on Nar Shaddaa was....less then a pleasant experience. She came to a stop at a food vendor run by an older woman who was talking to a human male about her own age.

Riley gave the woman a nod and smile before pulling some credits out of her jacket and laying them on the stall. A good way to blend in was to at least act like you were there for a reason, and her current reason was buying food. While she waited, her eyes drifted some to the man standing beside her. He was slightly taller than her with brown hair and light brown eyes. Riley gave him a hesitant smile before turning back to the vendor. She still wasn't the best at being social, but that really didn't matter right now cause she had a job to do.


[member="Ben Corscifine"]

 

[Nyree Justice]

Grenades.

Nyree placed her hands on her hips as she sighed. Her eyes were locked on the crate of explosives, one of several she had bought in the First Order space. A deal to drop sell grains from Naboo on Panatha presented her with that choice opportunity. It didn't take a hyperspace scientist to put two and two together; someone had lifted them in the chaos of the falling regime and she found herself plus a belly full of grenades that she had no idea what to do with. She could easily hear her mother's disappointment in her voice when she reported the buy. She scratched the back of her head, she had never dealt arms before, it was one of the few things the Sky Princess had never touched. A quick call got her another buyer on the line, some gang on Nar Shaddaa who was willing to easily pay four times what she had gotten it for--and out of that, a cargo hold of spice.

"How did I get here?" she groaned, tossing one of the grenades into the crate. Unfortunately, she didn't know enough about weapons to know how dangerous that was.

But at least she got a great deal on both buys. The console beeped, letting her know that her luxury yacht/freighter was coming out of hyperspace.

"One minute, I'm feeding civilians, the next I am running spice and guns," she grumbled rising to her feet and shuffling to the console. "Next thing you know, I'll be transporting organs."

The slime ball that was Nar Shaddaa averted to real space before Nyree. She took the helm and eased her vessel towards the crime-ridden planet. She knew that smell couldn't be sent through space, but she could almost swear the air took a more sour turn as she entered the planet's space. She thumbed her holoprojector active, the gnarly face of a battered Nikto appeared before her.

"This is the Sky Princess checking in. Where do you want the goods?" She asked, glancing at him then back at the airspace.

"Aaaah, yes," said the alien in a voice that relished the grenades a bit too much, "The payload that will tip the scale! The weapons hold that will allow us to once and for all bring the Crooked Claw to its knees. With this great bounty we will tear their turf from them once and for all! All shall quake as they hear the name of--"

"Yeah, uh, I get your whole 'West side story' thing you have going on here, I'm all about that life," Nyree gave him a thumbs up. "And I'm sure your gang war is like, super cool and all. But I kinda just wanna know where to park right about now."

"West Regional, back 47," the man said sheepishly.

"Thanks, my dude," Nyree said before she ended the call. She sighed. "Why do Gangsters always have to be so friggin' dramatic?"

[member="Riley Reese"] I [member="Cale Gunderson"] I [member="Aeron Iodine"] I [member="Ben Corscifine"]​