Beskadala
The Armored Maiden
THE HOUNDS OF THEED
Dancer’s Palace Ward - Rutian Garter
Rol lay in a nest of cushions at the far end of a long futon. It was framed by bronzium plated steel, gold and dark, while the fabric was a deep verdant blue. The cushions and pillows that formed his decadent throne were pale-purple Dramassian and Chersilk shimmersilk . The dark colors of the futon and cushions made the soft blues of the nude Rutian bright, making him appear to float over the sea of silks as he lay. The high-courtesan of the Rutian Garter’s most infamous bordello palace - the Grand Daesha, was used to the finest things.
And just like his nest, he was also lavishly adorned. His lekkus were ringed with golden bracelets which were further decorated with rings of medallion coins that jangled soft chimes as they moved. His straight nose was pierced with a chromed ring at the septum. His bottom lip was pierced as well, and so were his nostrils by pearls studs. The full lips below were gilded by gold lipstick and his eyelashes were painted bright red. Even his skin had been modified. Small particles of gold leaf had been infused into the most upper layers of his epidermis making his body twinkle like fine grains of sand caught by golden sunbeams. This is why the Matron of the Grand Daesha gave him his name - Rol, meaning Sun in Twi’lek speech.
Rol had many patrons. Wealthy patrons. Patrons that were industrial magnates, cartel lords, and even Senators. All who came from across the galaxy to the Syvris wastes to be with him within the notorious pirate ruled shadowport of The Starweird Queen. Which is why his personal hand-miadens, a pair of judgemental and scowling nautolans, were always confused that his most favorite patron was some bounty hunter. They spied on the peculiar favorite from behind the polished chrome threshold of the wide balcony entrance. She was rough looking, covered in muscles and scars. The sides of her head were shaved and the remaining hair on the top of her head were tied into a mohawk of braided tails. She sat on the same futon as their master, at the very end.
She wore baggy combat pants with dark boots. Her torso was bare except a form fitting tank top that hugged her chest’s curves. A strange musical instrument was placed in her lap. It had a square base and a long bridge and neck. In one hand she caressed the strings with a long bowstring and the other held notes by pressing down the strings near the top of the neck. The strings wheezed and cried a soft twanging melody that rattled and flowed. The bounty hunter whistled and sang a song from her throat. Though it gargled and echoed as if it came from nowhere. Her voice was deep and velvet. The words were foriegn and harsh to them. When she stopped, Rol clapped and smiled. The hand-maidens blushed at his smile. It was a rare show of true affection - not the sensual coy smirks he often sported for the hedonistic gratification and validation of his patrons.
“Lovely, Beskadala. Another tune from the Mandalorians of Shogun?” Rol asked.
Beskadala shook her head as she rested the bowstring down, “No. From Tiantang actually. A Mandalorian Star Raider taught me it.”
“Tiantang?” Rol said, confused, “Never heard of it.”
Rol sighed and looked out from the wide panoramic views of the balcony. He dreamed of what interesting places existed beyond the neon of the shadowport. Above them, colossal holoprojection holograms of ghostly dancers the size of buildings played their ritual beckonings and the bright lights of the Rutian Garter District bathed both him and Beskadala in its rotating blankets of bright blue, purple, and green.
“Maybe I could visit it with you someday?” Rol laughed.
Both of them knew it would never happen - for all his wealth and prestige, Rol could never leave the shadowport. Beskadala did not want to either however. She had finally gotten some time to herself. After the debacle of the Tribe of Mandalorians and the futile squabbling over Mandalore, Beskadala had joined the Deathwatch Crusaders and assisted their formation. However, her old ties to the Hutt Cartels had dragged her back from returning to the way of Mandalorians properly. Some bloody contracts later she had blown over to the shadowport and back into the embrace of Rol. The Rutian high-courtesan was the closest thing to a friend and perhaps the focus of affection Beskadala had. His touch was a tonic for her broken soul.
Rol stood up and crawled over to Beskadala reaching her lap and resting his head between her thighs. Beskadala twisted her lips and ran a finger across his chest, up to his neck and over his lekkus.
“Maybe,” grinned Beskadala, “Should the fates allow such a nice thing.”
A hand-maiden hurriedly rushed in. She was carrying a small holo-projector that was ringing. It was Beskadala’s. It’s very sound made her flinch and grimace. She knew who was calling. Rol looked worried, he saw Beskadala’s soft and often rare feminine gaze contort into the grim glare of a warrior. He rose up and waved at the hand-maidens trying to dismiss them. Beskadala stopped him by grabbing his hand. Rol froze and looked back at Beskadala with a worried stare. Beskadala weakly smiled and shrugged - a silent apology. Rol relented and stood up. He walked around Beskadala. But, before leaving her completely he leaned to kiss her on the cheek and then approached his hand-maiden. Snatching the holoprojector he gave it to Beskadala and donned his robes. He left with the hand-maidens.
Beskadala watched Rol leave and then turned her attention to the holoprojector in his palm. She sighed and spat a curse before activating it. The corpulent bloated form of Dowagha Hutt, the Dowager of Nar Shaddaa ballooned in a small hologram beneath her. The Hutt nodded and fanned herself with a collapsible durasteel plate fan.
“A wonderful few nights I hope, Beskadala,” Dowagha chuckled in Huttese.
“Until you called,” Beskadala replied in her own accented Huttese.
The Dowagha snickered, “You wouldn’t have ever met Rol if it was not for my recommendations...and credits, Hunter. His affection is mine.”
The forced equivalency of the Hutt purposely corrupted between Rol and her touch made Beskadala’s skin crawl.
“What do you want?” Beskadala asked.
“I have a mission for you,” said Dowagha, “A target which needs extracting and delivery to me. It is of highest priority.”
“A hound hunt?” Beskadala responded, continuing, “Don’t you have your own hounds to unleash on poor souls?”
“Not this one,” Dowagha growled, “He is a high security target. I don’t need hounds, Beskadala. I need a hunter. A professional. I need your talents, Mandalorian. So get to your ship and make for Theed in Naboo. I will have my protocol droid send details of the job to you. Complete this task and you’ll have enough credits to spend a lifetime with your pretty Rutian whore.”
The feed cut and the image faded away. Beskadala tossed the holoprojector device onto the futon and rubbed her face with her hands.
“Another job?” Rol’s voice softly interrupted.
Beskadala rubbed her face again, smacked her hands down on her knees and stood up. She turned on her heel and marched onto Rol. She cupped his face and pressed her lips on his in a lingering kiss. When she pulled away she nodded silently and released Rol, walking past him. Rol stayed in place for a moment, shocked by the rush and felt his lips for a moment. He turned around to see Beskadala putting on her clothes. The garments that made up her combat suit and the plates of silver harsh beskar that made up her beskar’gam - Mandalorian Armor.
“A long one?” Rol asked.
“Maybe,” Beskadala said, as she reached for her helmet.
“An expensive one?” Rol pressed.
Beskadala shot a quick smile and wink at Rol before placing the helmet on. Her vocoder voice rumbled from behind the helmet as she replied, “Only for the Hutt. Which means more time with you.”
“I’ll be waiting then,” Rol said.
“Bye,” said Beskadala, passing through the sliding doors of Rol’s penthouse.
“See around, Hunter,” Rol quietly whispered.
* * *
[LATER]
Hyperspace
Enroute to Chommell Sector, Naboo System
“This job is Banthashit you know that,” snapped Beskadala as she reclined into her pilot’s seat.
“The parameters cannot be negotiated,” replied a shiny chromed protocol droid, hovering above Beskadala from a cabin roof mounted holoprojector aboard her Mk II Talon. The droid continued, “The Mistress has made it paramount that the target be removed and brought from its current location.”
“You think the Confederacy is going to let me waltz into Theed and snatch a Confederate Industrialist from right under them?” Beskadala said.
“We leave the method and discretion of the exfiltration to your judgement. But, the parameters still remain, Hunter,” said the droid. “The target must be brought to force payment that is owed. Such a flagrant insult to the Mistress’ control over the black financial markets that finance certain operations would prove disastrous to her and you.”
The claxon which alerted Beskadala to the Talon’s exit from hyperspace echoed in the pilot’s cabin. The droid bowed and ended the feed, saying, “We shall monitor your progress. Please inform us when you have captured the target.”
Beskdala cursed and leaned out of her chair to reach for the controls as the ripping lights of hyperspace bled back to real space and the large emerald ball of Naboo blew up into focus. Beskadala growled and hummed to herself calculating the issues that would present themselves during the hunt. At a superficial glance, the job was like any other Hound Runs - the capture and extraction of a target that has fled from his financial obligation to a much more powerful entity.
In this case a CIS Industrialist by the name of Degred Kezo. The Theed high society socialite ran financing for major CIS civic and military operations but had a bad habit of playing with darker money in darker circles. This leads him to spend his time on Nar Shaddaa and places in Wild Space, funding side jobs for his pleasure and trying to play Cartel Boss with real criminals. Just another rich boy who thinks because he has the credits he could also play with the real deals. He had tried to play crime lord roulette with Dowagha and lost. So he took all his assets and ran back to Theed thinking he was out of reach from the Hutt. So now Beskadala had to get into Theed, find the bastard at one of his usual haunts in Theed’s higher establishment clubs and drag him back to Nar Shaddaa, where she guessed he would be held ransom for proper payments by his company associates.
Beskadala shocked her head and spat a sharp exhale. She didn’t like it. It was too risky, even if the payment would compensate for such risk. The Dowagha had supplied countermeasures - the contract ran through the Bounty Hunter’s Guild giving the job the veneer of legitimacy and even her ship’s identifying codes were altered to appear as a personal ship with clean records. Still it all gave Beskadala a bad feeling as her Talon reached the perimeter of Naboo controlled space, where she was flagged by a patrolling ship.
“This Naboo Aerospace Control, Talon Vessel 34892 please state your business and port of call?” a voice called out from her comms.
“This Talon,” Beskadala replied, “Business is on the execution of an official Bounty Hunter Guild sanctioned hunt. Port of Call is Theed. Looking for permission to proceed.”
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