It's not easy being Green

[Harland Gates]

PHAEDA​

​

Recently relieved from the fierce grip of a proverbial crushgaunt of Mandalorian rule, the highly toxic form of civilization hadn't wavered much in light of the recent events that constituted billions being wiped from the Galaxy at large - it was still a cesspool that made Nar Shaddaa look downright classy. A mixture of orange and red sky hung over the landscape either from constant pollution, or simply a refraction of various elements of the planet's atmosphere gave an unhealthy glow to the various tightly packed cityscapes peppering the topography. With such a chaotic balance of power being shifted and changed every seeming hour, the scoundrels and ne'er–do–wells of the Galaxy still in play were finding that while the stars were clear and the trade franchises halting to a near standstill, there were still places that they would gravitate towards in order to continue their selfish pursuits. The spaceport was officially closed, as many of those that would operate the businesses and franchises of even such a seedy capital city were missing in action, along with those that would take up the mantel. Most of the Galaxy was in a similar state of affairs and things were not looking up. There were perhaps a handful of people who were not completely focused on what the recent 'rapture' like event caused - among them a star pilot with a burning question.

"I have it on good authority that the chemical sludge they use to deep fry bantha is about ten times worse than a blaster bolt to the gills ugly." A very hands on version of Gates currently had his mits on a Nautolan - accosting the amphibious lout and holding him in duress against the back kitchen's frying pit. Hondas was a smaller version of the waterborn peoples, and was a known informant on things of a more dark side nature. He was a snake oil salesmen to some, and a regular grifter to others - but his information was sometimes better than that of your run of the mill infochant. Unfortunately for Gates, and his own health, Hondas was being less than forthcoming about actions taken on Manaan during an invasion between that of the One Sith and the Republic. Normally it was Gates in situations like this, being threatened in some form or fashion, but he'd been less about his piloting ways since he'd did a ping pong between this world and that of the Netherworld. Whatever manner of luck had seen fit to snatch him back into reality had set Harland on a course of action to track down his best friend in the Galaxy and find out what in the nine Corellian hells was going on.

"I don't know anything you psycho!" Hondas shouted back as he squirmed and wriggled his way within the clutches of the star pilot scoundrel. "You think the Sith talk to me...you're chewing the lunaweed spacer!" For a small and lean frame, he was a wiry one, but that only made Gates more pronounced pushing him back against the fryer. Both hands clenched into dominating fists, holding the scruff of the aquatic man's clothes in thrall.

"The Sith don't talk to nobodies like you laser-brain, but you listen to everything, and you're gonna spill what you know before this kitchen has a new plate special of deep fried tendrils." Hal answered back growling as the searing chemical bath below was popping and fizzing. The tendrils of the Nautolan were doing everything they could not to get near that particular fate as he was being pressured into talking. The star port may have been closed, but the seedy dive bar was still running. One of the few that made it, and was left had been pumping out drinks all night, but their food shortage issues weren't getting the normal crowd, so Gates had at least some privacy with his current victim.

"Gah! Fine..few days ago, I heard tell of their 'prize'. You say she's that important, that's gotta be what they were talking about. That's all I know." Which was incorrect, Hondas never let go of really good information without a price, but Gates wasn't in a bargaining mood. The slimy one was just biding his time, mainly because he knew there was another contract, a paying contract with someone else who was supposed to meet him here today. If he could last long enough and come up with enough of an ample excuse, Hal would have to square off with that one instead of trying to deal with the spacer himself.

[member="Gala Geert"]

 

[Gala Geert]

With a war going on, it was surprising how liberal the green duelist could be with her time. Then again, she wasn't often on the front lines, and most of The Republic's efforts recently had been in the conquering and assimilation of territories that had been cast aside in the discord of the war. Gala was a specialist, requested to insert herself where others would fail without the arsenal of knowledge and talent her resumé boasted. Insertion was a risk the new Chief of Military didn't seem to want to take -- heck, there was even rumours of wanting to conglomerate the army and navy. It was absurd to the purple-haired agent, but so long as she and her paycheck weren't affected, absurd it would remain -- and wouldn't receive anything further than a bat of her eye.

Recently, it seemed payroll had wanted to keep her and the Rogue brigade busy and had sent them to quell a disruption within a crime organization. Between Phaeda and Attahox, Gala was deeply beginning to question the desperation of The Republic's expansion attempts. Both were garbage planets. Nevertheless, with unquestioning want to slice into some flesh and do her job (in order to receive the payout, nothing more) Gala and her team had successfully reported a job complete. They were supposed to be expedited from the planet once the success was confirmed, however it seemed that her team were more efficient than the time projections and estimates. Which meant they had to wait.

Waiting on a hell-hole could only mean one thing for those who kill for a living (and have a license for it). Drinking on their employer's dollar. Reimbursement would be issued for the delay and the inconvenience (as if these folks had anything worth getting back to!) -- and that was swell by Gala. Presently though, her eyelids flickered with an attempt to stay intrigued by the same story her wildcard associate was telling for the umpteenth time this evening as they passed cards back and forth in a low-stakes pazzak game. The heel of her palm pressed against her chin as she tossed a duo of cards face down onto the table.

"Chew on that for a few minutes, boys. I've got to see a lady about her cat." With that excuse for nature's duty, she stood from her seat. Although she was in the middle of a booth, surrounded by gruff looking agents, they didn't move for her. That was fine for the mirilian, who extended a long leg behind her an maneuvered herself free by a more flexible option. AS she wandered through the bar and grill, silhouettes passed by her and lights swirled over her green skin. Out of habit, she consciously assessed each individual she passed while keeping her gaze forward to her destination. Should the crime ring have communications on the outside, she was tipsy enough to take advantage of -- so her peripherals were working overtime.

AFter a few moments, she was running her hands under a squeaky tap with a quivering, tainted looking stream. She frowned, banging her wrists against the rim of the basin and wiping the rest of the liquid against her leather-coated thighs and exiting the bathroom, which looked directly into the kitchen.

How convenient for introduction opportunities.

A single swing of her hips, and she wasn't heading back to her table, but rather towards two equally distressed looking individuals. Her saunter was sure, and she stopped with enough time to lean against the door, arms folded across her chest and a deep amethyst brow quirked pointedly toward the scruffy-haired leather-jacket wearing space card.

"Please tell me that's not your most effective method to make a tongue loose."

[member="Harland Gates"]​

 

[Harland Gates]

Years ago, the all too patient and wise Master of the young curly headed padawan had instructed the youth on the details of successful interrogation techniques. Most of these had to do with manipulating the mind with subtle, but useful taps into the psyche to make the would be stooge more liberal with dispensing information. Even though he had struggled with even remedial advances into that particular field. Much more now - and with such high stakes on the line Gates had opted to use a Force, but not exactly the Force to edge out what secrets were hidden in that thick cranium. Information spread quickly in the Galaxy, even after such a cataclysmic vanishing act for billions of sentient beings, and bad news, it traveled much faster. Anaxes was overthrown, and despite reservations about entering into Sith Territory - he'd done enough digging to know that the blonde he was searching for had been last spotted in a botched invasion against the Sith.

Hondas was not however Gates' first choice in the matter. He ranked somewhere down the list of fifty third as far as infochants go, and he was as shady as he was unreliable. Desperate times though, and the hands on version of the spacer was getting irritated that this Nautolan wasn't being sufficiently motivated to be helpful. Just from his own experience in being pressured for the right answer, the amount of fear, dread, and defeat was an easy read, even for those glassy black orbs that Hondas called eyes. That answer was just asking for a far more aggressive version of protest, even if it was veiled around something that seemed like half-honesty. He knew how this worked, he knew credits was really the only thing this piece of poodoo understood, and while he could relate, Gates wasn't in a gaming mood, and wasn't going to bargain for something this important. Punctuating that feeling was the knee that rose in swift resolve to plant deep into Hondas' gut, doubling him over before his form was shoved unceremoniously against the large metallic fridge behind him.

"I'll make you a deal squid-head, you can either get flash boiled, or frozen - either way credits are gonna be lost on a corpse, so you give me something useful, or we see how many meals desperate people can make out of water tight skin." Was he bluffing? Maybe. Gates though didn't pull verbal punches, and he rarely was one you could call on bluffing as he was well within his abilities to make good on a lot of what he promised. Still this type of interrogation wasn't his favorite or his forte, but scaring people didn't come easy when you weren't known for the crimes you mouth claimed.

"I swear I didn't hear anything, try the local mandie patrol, they'll still around, they do merc work." A sigh escaped Gates' lips as he shook his head and growled audibly. That was not the right move to play when he was in this kind of mood.

"Wrong answer!" One hand on the throat, against the pressure points of the Nautolan's gills, while the other opened the meat freezer and Hondas was shoved inside, with the door closing fast and locking on the outside. He'd continue to berate the soon to be chilly version of the tendril snake, but the voice from behind caught him off guard, causing a pivot and a glance. Normally the smirk would show on instant, as Gala was certainly an exotic one. Curves in all the right places, skin tone and hair color aside, he'd dated a lot worse, though that wasn't really on the spacer's docket at the moment. Pressing his back up against the door for a moment, his blue eyes traveled up and down the duelist for a moment until a shrug was offered.

"Well no, but any other method means he doesn't have a tongue at all, so I pick my battles."

"Help!"

"Shut up!" Gates called back to Hondas giving a double tap on the metal door.

[member="Gala Geert"]