"Just a Few Hands of Cards"

[Alaric Marãll]

Just A Few Hands of Cards​

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The Calypso Casino & Resort​

“Listen partner,” Alaric said with his signature smirk loitering on his face, but the smile failed to reach his stormy blue eyes. Alaric was sitting at one of the card tables across from a man of approximately similar age. However, his gambling partner had not aged nearly as well as Alaric. While Alaric was still fit, strong, and bucking for a good fight, his opponent was pudgy, bald, and smelled like a mixture of overpriced cologne and expensive alcohol. Alaric hadn’t caught the man’s name. He’d introduced himself when he sat down, but Alaric’s attention was caught on the young beauty that trailed behind him. A call girl, if he was guessing. The man struck Alaric as being too stingy to be a good mark for any gold-digger, at least if his cautious gambling was any indication. “The way I see it, you have a couple of options right here. You can fold, in which case I win the pot, or you can throw more money in. Now if you do decide to throw in more money—got two options there. Maybe you’ll just match or maybe you’ll need to impress this young beauty of yours,” he gestured to the tail-head standing behind him, massaging his shoulders. Alaric wasn’t typically interested in non-human girls, but maybe for this magenta skinned nymph he’d make an exception. “Regardless,” he said as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, satisfying the familiar sensation, “maybe I’ll raise you or maybe I’ll meet you. But there’s only one way to find out, and we’re all waiting on you.” He motioned for a drink to be placed before him. Another drink that is. He downed in a single gulp, hiding his satisfaction that the man had raised him.

Alaric toyed with a few chips, as if considering whether to meet or raise, all for appearances of course. He was going to meet, encourage the man to play a little more aggressively in the next round, and then take him for all he was worth. Alaric had been carefully cultivating his hand and his image at the table. No one took him too seriously, and that was just as he wanted it. Easier to win when you’re the only one playing. He met the amount and threw in the proper number of the proper colored chips. Everything going according to plan. The next phase went exactly as well as he anticipated and by the time the two sides were down raising each other, the pot had grown to a respectable size. Large enough to attract some spectators. They revealed their hands simultaneous and Alaric smiled, reaching for the pot and then realized—he had lost. Badly.

“Kark!” He exclaimed taking the cigarette out of his mouth with his right hand and bringing his left fist down hard on the table. How did this keep happening to him? He had never been a particularly proficient gambler, but he had only one maybe two hands all night and was deep in the red. It was like his senses were dulled somehow. “Gearhead,” he said referring to the serving droid, “another drink.” He nursed the whisky for a few seconds while he pondered the haziness of his mind. “Just leave the bottle.” He added, he’d have to think hard about this. Time for the next hand came and he declined, he’d already lost over half the chips he had arrived with and it was about time to cash out and head to the nearest spaceport and catch a ride off to some other rock. He stood to leave and he heard the pretty alien woman giggle. Beautiful women had always had a way of catching the old gentleman’s ear and so he turned to face her, “I must beg your pardon my lady,” he said quietly, causing her to lean in ever so slightly to better hear him. “I will be bankrupt by morning if I keep gambling while so thoroughly entranced by your beauty.”

“That’s enough,” the man said roughly, only causing Alaric’s smile to widen.

“Stay out of this partner, between me and your lady.” He advised, making clear he was not in the mood for the man to both take his chips and interrupt him.

“Either grab some cards or move along.” The man put emphasis on each word. Clearly unintimidated.

“Huh,” Alaric chuckled, he brought his cigarette back to his lips and breathed deeply. He exhaled grey smoke from his nose, like some slumbering dragon, before dropping the cigarette on the floor and stomping it under his foot. “Fair enough,” he said with a shrug once it was extinguished. And then he punched the man. His fist moved easily, condensing his opponent’s nose and knocking him out off of his stool, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Alaric delivered a savage kick to the man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and then pouring himself another drink, eyeing the man while he drank it. You could be the richest son-of-a-blaster in the system, still had a breadbasket. He heard the heavy foot falls of security approaching and sighed, taking one more drink and then starting for the exit.

“Sir,” Alaric heard the voice of the security guard but ignored him, electing to keep walking. “Sir, I’m going to need you to come with me.” The man reached out and grabbed his arm, causing Alaric to twist like he’d just discovered a snake in the bushes.

“Don’t you touch me, Boy!” He spat, whipping around and freeing his arm, his hand instinctively went to his holster, though he’d had decided against taking his weapons into the casino. He presumed it wasn’t allowed and he hadn’t been looking to cause a scene. He gestured to his opponent, only now pulling himself to his knees with the help of the Twi’lek woman, gasping out something about calling the police. “See? He’s fine.” He pointed to the door, “and I’m leaving. Just going to cash out and head out. Tired of this chit-hole anyways.”

“Sir, you need to come with me relating to a separate matter. Though your little outburst there certainly didn’t do you any favors.”

“What?!” Alaric was outraged and pointed angrily back to the table, “I obviously wasn’t cheating. He’s fine, so what, exactly, do we have to talk about?”

“The credits you exchanged for those chips have been determined to be counterfeit.” A moment of silence passed between the men. The entire casino seemed to be watching them now.

“Oh,” Alaric added, nodding his head as if the whole interaction made more sense to him now. “That.” He lit a cigarette and took a puff. “I didn’t think y’all would notice. At least, well you know,” he said taking another drag, “not quite so soon.” He considered his options. There was a lot of security around, but not approaching him, they were positioning themselves strategically around the exits and between him and the other guests. “Y’all aren’t one of those casinos actually run by the mafia are ya?” He asked shaking his head and approaching, feigning surrender. “I’m sure your boss and me can work all this out, maybe just split the credits? Well, credits,” he added emphasis on the word to acknowledge their less than legitimate origins, “or. . . .” he let the word hang for a moment, extending it unnaturally and then threw a punch at the guard. However, before the blow could land there was a loud ‘clink’ as the man got walloped by the bottle of whisky from his table, causing him to crumble to the ground. Behind him stood Alaric’s young friend and companion. “Mynock!” He said in surprise, awkwardly throwing his weight to avoid punching the girl. “I think they might be on to us,” he offered with a gesture to the guards.

“Run Old Man,” she said, tugging on his arm as she sprinted off towards the exit she determined was lead well-guarded. Alaric had the sense of mind to reach out and snatch some more of the chips off the table before he turned to follow her, stuffing them in his pockets, and the chase was on. The pair did remarkably well given the confined space, if they had made it to the slot machines, they’d have been home free. In the end, practically a dozen men were wrestling with Alaric as he kicked, hit, spat, and bit as seemed appropriate. His girl companion had done the math and surrendered more cooperatively. Tables had been flipped, bones broken, bottles shattered and used as weapons, a few patrons had been trampled, though Alaric would hardly feel that was his fault, a few droids had been destroyed, to that Alaric would admit, and the entire card area was a complete mess. “What ever happened to keeping a low profile? 'Just a few hands of cards, Mynock.'” The girl quoted him frustratedly as they were being hauled into the back room. He wasn't offended by the remark. They had to convert the fraudulent credits into clean credits somehow. A casino was the natural choice, and he couldn't just grab chips and then immediately cash out, could he?

“Change of plans,” he answered coyly before addressing one of the guards who lead the way, limping, “so again, about that mafia connection?” His only answer was a swift jab in the ribs.

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia paced the length of her suite, tiptoeing along the plush carpet. She paused, turning her absent gaze out the window, towards the skyline that flickered in the distance. She stood, poised and elegant, a drink neglected in her slim hand. The outline of the buildings against the darkened sky almost reminded her of Brentaal, home. It had been quite a while since she’d been back.

There was little point in visiting now.

The Nova family was nearly gone. First her father, then Pearl — the youngest of the three daughters— and finally, Calypso, her eldest sister and casino’s namesake.

She’d always imagined the day that her family members were out of her way, but now… she could hardly eat, sleep, or even walk down the street. The last target had already been painted on her back. Once she was gone, the Nova empire would crumble, too. That is unless she had a legacy to leave behind. Dahlia had never wanted children, not really. And, she knew that she would probably be dead before she could ever carry on the family line.

Turning her back to the window and the lights of the city, she finally lifted her drink up for a dainty sip. But, before the sparkling glass could even touch her painted lips, her assistant walked briskly into the room, datapad in hand.

“Ma’am,” He said, giving Dahlia a brisk but polite nod. “There seems to be an issue downstairs, the card room.”

She reached her free hand out, the screen of the datapad illuminating her features. Brows arched gracefully as she watched the events unfold before her. It was somewhat rare to see fisticuffs in her casino, especially fights that ended with bottles being shattered over heads. However, it was not so uncommon that she was at all surprised. Credits made people greedy, and gambling tended to set them on edge.

Dahlia was about to hand the datapad back when the older man on the screen caught her eyes. There was something very familiar about him, and his swagger. A slight smile tugged at her cheek.

“Silver… devil,” She said, the smile grew into a smirk.

The security teams would be quick to do their job, she knew that -- she’d hired them, after all.

“Bring him to me,” She said, her tone soft. “He’s an old family friend…”

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

“Boy,” Alaric said under his breath, he’d taken three blows to the ribs in short succession. Each of them delivered by the fist of the younger man who was still attempting to adequately restrain him. None of the guards were exactly sure how the grey haired gentleman had escaped his irons, but they were all alerted to the fact by a sudden and furious fist, the opening salvo knocking his first target unconscious. The others had scrambled into the fray, hurrying to assist their comrades and now there was a rumble on the floor consisting of Alaric and not fewer than six other men, rolling around. Occasionally a first or leg or head would pop out of the melee, only to get pulled back in. In the chaos, it wasn’t clear that the security was certain who they were targeting. “If you don’t get off me right now,” he muttered between two large chomps as he bit two arms he was reasonably certain were not his own involved in the kerfuffle. It may not have been appropriate combat strategy but he had never been above fighting dirty. He headbutted another man so hard that he himself saw stars and then resumed the fight in earnest with the various men.

Meanwhile, the girl had been left handcuffed and only one man stood beside her, watching the fight with interest. She looked up at him, seeing the consternation in his face. “You know,” she said softly, “that Old Man there is a real fighter. He’s wanted on seven systems and he’s considered a rising star in amateur boxing communities. . . . on Eshan.” The man regarded her for a moment. “Fine,” she sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, her hands restrained behind her by shackles. The strand fell right back where it had been once she stopped exhaling. “Suit yourself.” He stared at her for a moment. She was a small girl, slight of frame. Couldn’t weigh more than 45kg. He turned and began to move to intervene in the fight and, as soon as he had passed by her, she struck. With a groan of exertion, she hopped backwards through her cuffs, bringing them to the front of her body and jumped on the man’s back, bringing the chain connecting the cuffs around his neck and tackling him to the ground, pulling him on top of her as she pulled—hard. He flailed and gasped for a few minutes before surrendering to unconsciousness. She had the wherewithal to release him, the Old Man would not have been so kind. She grabbed the key off him and released herself and began searching for a weapon. She was still looking when the doors opened and another group of security officers entered. Their arrival ended the fight pretty quickly and she was cuffed all over again. This time they cuffed her ankles. And put two men on her.

“You’re lucky,” Alaric stopped to cough, losing a little bit of blood as he hacked, “that your friends showed up to back you up partner,” he used his tongue to count his teeth. All there, good. His smile was his best feature. “Y’all better call the authorities,” he said, trying to keep conscious. It had been a hell of a fight. “You boys don’t seem to be of the proper caliber.”

“The boss wants to see you. Says you’re an old friend.” One of the guards said, forcing Alaric onto the elevator along with the girl and as many guards as they could manage.

“I don’t got no friends,” Alaric responded, his head throbbing. “Specially not ‘round these parts. You can tell your boss he can keep the credits, payment on whatever debt he thinks I owe ‘em.”

“She.”

“She?” Alaric asked confused. The guard didn’t give him an answer. He didn’t have to. Soon, the elevator opened and the group exited into a chicly decorated penthouse and before them was a brunet beauty. Alaric laughed. One of his eyes was bruised, he had a few cuts on his cheek and neck, his hair was terribly tussled, there was dried red beneath on of his nostrils, and when he smiled, there was blood between his teeth. “Bella?!” He exclaimed, offering her the most attractive smirk he could in present conditions. “What are you doing all the way out here, darlin’?” He looked around, “I’m a little dizzy but we’re a long ways from Brentaal. Oh!” He nodded in sudden realization. “The Calypso! I should have realized. I’m sorry Bella, never would have caused such a fuss—and whooped so many of your boys—if I had known this was your sister’s establishment.” He shook his head, “small galaxy, huh? Uh, and that reminds me. I should probably give you these chips back. Your siblings around these parts too, or are they back home?” He gestured to his jacket’s pockets. It was clear he was only barely holding onto consciousness.

[member="Dahlia"]

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia waited, her slim frame standing tall before the lift as it opened into her suite. And, as the doors parted, she would greet the older man with a pleasant cant of her head. A slight smile tugged at her lips, it was quite amusing to see him so surprised to see her. Her dark eyes, vigilant as always, scanned the faces that stepped off the lift and lingered on the young woman that had accompanied Alaric. Yes, she remembered this one from Brentaal, she'd been a few years younger then.

She stepped forward, waving away the man's apology.

“You'd be surprised just where I turn up nowadays,” She said, her tone soft and enigmatic.

With another wave of her hand, she pointed the girl towards an armchair near the window, where she could look out at the city. And, with a barely perceivable look, she told her men to stand back, they moved obediently to stand guard at the lift. Meanwhile, Dahlia moved swiftly to Alaric's side, taking his arm so that he could escort her to the sofa – or rather, she could support him as he walked. At the edge of the plush leather cushion, she would lower him down to sit. A moment later, she was seated next to him, holding out a handkerchief.

Though she was fond of Alaric, she really didn't want blood on her expensive furniture.

“Oh, my sisters?” She said, airily. “They are both presumed dead.” Dahlia offered a sad shrug. “I really think they are quite dead. But, then again, I wouldn't be surprised if Pearl or Carlypso showed up one day, perfectly fine.” She punctuated her point with a mirthless chuckle.

She knew that Alaric had known them all as girls, he probably felt somewhat sentimental about them. Deep down, she was unsure if she could feel that way towards them. Her heart had always been fickle and dark. Dahlia viewed her sisters with mixed opinions. They were her blood. But, at times, they'd been her enemies, too. And, she was fairly certain that either of them would have offed her if they'd had the chance. After their father passed, it had been something of a free-for-all for a while.

Now, things were quiet again... too quiet.

“I think... I might be next,” She said, her tone drifting off dreamily. But, Dahlia snapped out of it and turned back to Alaric with renewed attention. “Fancy a drink?” She asked, and waved one of her men over towards the bar. “He'll make anything you want."

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

“You’re right, I didn’t expect to see you ‘round these parts. You know, when I travel,” he answered her with the same crimson smirk, “I don’t enjoy such luxuries,” he said examining with approval the lofty penthouse. “You always did have a strong inclination towards the finer things in life, Bella.” He accepted her assistance as he limped over to the sofa, “you should hire more men, these boys ain’t that tough,” he said, wincing as he sat and accepted the kerchief. He cleaned the blood off himself as best he could given its abundance and pocketed the fabric, presuming the sophisticated woman would not want it returned. “You’re a long ways from Brentaal, Bella. What business do you have making this lucky little part of the galaxy so infinitely more radiant?” His spoke with a grandiose term that suited the old flirt quite well.

“Dead?” He considered that for a moment. It didn’t sit well with him. Sure the Nova’s family business wasn’t the safest line of work, but the girls were ultimately managers. Not footmen. Given that Old Smooth had only been dead a few years, it seemed suspicious for his daughters to likewise start vanishing. “No, not Pearl and Calypso.” He shook his head. “You know I’ve got a soft spot for you girls, Bella, but each of ya is meaner than a rancor when you and yours is threatened. Just like Old Smooth.”

His quiet assurances, he knew, may well be lost on her. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if she even wanted her sisters to reappear. Still, comforting a beautiful woman was something Alaric had always been naturally inclined towards. When she suggested that she, herself, may be in danger he grew noticeably more serious, his eyes narrowing as he bit his lower hip, his entire jaw a little more tense. “Why would you think such a terrible thought, Bella?” He stood and made his way over to the bar, still limping, and ordered “the stiffest one ya got.” He consumed the drink in a single gulp and had another poured, appreciating as the warmness began to spread from his stomach out, driving away the pain. “I’ll tell ya what, Bella,” he said turning back to face her, “I was only planning on being here a few hours, offload some counterfeit credits and move on to another sector, raise a little more hell, but. . . .” he sipped on the second drink, “if you feel that you’re in danger. . . .” he set the drink down firmly, “then I owe it to Old Smooth to shoot, burn, and cut my way across this rock until either you feel safe or you’re the only one left alive. This galaxy needs more Novas, not less.”

[member="Dahlia"]

 

[Dahlia]

“Oh, you know, a little bit of this and that,” Dahlia said. In reality, her purpose for being in these parts was not so vague. Crime and credits, like always. But, everything about Dahlia was classy and clandestine. She'd keep it all wrapped up neatly under a sly smile.

Dahlia let the news about her sisters sink in.

“Yes,” She said, absently. She watched as Alaric shook his head in disbelief, and she canted her head ever slightly. Her lashes fluttered softly when he mentioned her father, 'Old Smooth,' as he'd been known. Dahlia's blue gaze followed as Alaric made his way to the bar, his question lingered in her mind.

Was it a terrible thought?

Yes, she supposed it was. It certainly was quite dark. But, it was the norm in her line of business. It was probably a wonder that she'd stayed alive this long. Her existence was glamorous, to be sure, but it was also empty. Sleepless nights, days spent in anxious worry. The galaxy was dull now, even her vices had lost their shine. However, as Alaric turned to face her, newly made drink in hand, she listened to his proposition. It wasn't often that her heart felt much of anything, but for a brief moment, it almost felt warm.

Dahlia rose and walked towards Alaric, the pointed toes her heels bumped lightly against his boots.

“You'd really do that?” She asked breathlessly. Her wide eyes searched the old man's face and the spots of blood that still remained. A man that would fight his way across the world to keep her safe without being paid to do so. Loyalty like that was hard to find nowadays. There was fire in Alaric's eyes, his words held weight. “I'm flattered,” She said, with a genuine smile. “I'm sure my father would approve.”

He always had been fiercely protective of the three girls.

Trading in her own empty cup for a new one, she moved gracefully back to the sofa. She turned, eyes out the window for a moment. “But, where do we start?”

[member="Alaric Marãll"]

 

[Alaric Marãll]

Alaric regarded the woman as she approached, motion to the bartender to prepare another drink. His mind drifted back to that night on Brentaal, when he first met Dahlia ‘the woman’ as he’d come to think of her. In a lot of way, she was just a more elegant, refined, and beautiful version of Dahlia ‘the child.’ The girl had always been dark. Sometimes, Alaric wondered, if the whole family wasn’t rotten to the core, their souls a causality of their peculator profession. But he didn’t care. Even though he was half-certain Dahlia wasn’t able to feel for people as he, or indeed as most, could feel towards others, he did know that she cared for him in her own way. And Old Smooth had not been much different—more gregarious maybe—but not ultimately different. Alaric sipped on his second drink, the first had helped numb the pain and he imagined the sophisticated Dahlia would rather he sip than shoot. People said that you got stuck with your family but could pick your friends. Alaric didn’t believe that. He considered Mynock, then the Novas. You pretty much just get stuck with everyone.

“Would I. . . .” he laughed at her question, before regarding her seriously, “yes.” He answered simply.

He thought back across the years to a time when Old Smooth had confided to him that his business was being hurt by an overzealous police officer. The officer, Alaric had forgotten his name, considered himself something of a righteous crusader and was impervious to all manner of bribes and threats. He was cracking down on Old Smooth’s operation, seizing shipments and packages, raiding bars and warehouses, and generally making himself a nuisance. Why this ‘white hat’ had decided to crack down on Old Smooth while leaving the One Sith be was beyond Alaric. The good guys, as far as Alaric was concerned, were people like Old Smooth who risked everything to sell Alaric and his ilk everything from information to explosives even though doing so risked exposing them to the wrath of the Sith. Those were the true heroes—who cared if they ran a little loan business on the side? Alaric resolved the situation by smuggling a chemical agent into the precinct where the officer worked. Thirteen people, besides the officer himself, had been killed. Scores were hospitalized. And business went back to usual for Old Smooth. He had never asked Alaric if he was behind the ‘terrorist attack,’ he hadn’t needed to.

“Old Smooth always said I was in the wrong line of work,” he responded, moving back to the sofa, almost always quietly impressed at Dahlia’s ability to make even the simple action of walking seem elegant, graceful. He was a lumbering off besides her. “Always said that I’d make more money in personal protection, being a fixer for some ‘alternative industries’ businessmen.” He shrugged, “Never was the life for me. I don’t believe in working for bad people I don’t like, and I’ve never needed payin’ to help those I do.” He took a seat on the sofa. “Old Smooth always said that I was ‘an idealist with a gun.’” He chuckled. “I ‘pose he’s probably right on that point.”

He leaned back on the sofa and considered when she asked where the best place to start was. It was valid question, but one he’d not been expecting. “Well, you want to kill a snake, you start at the head. Crush it, and the rest might flail around a little bit but it ain’t gonna bite ya, and a snake that can’t bite is a snake you ain’t got cause to be feared of.” He reflected on the sentence, he was pretty sure it made sense even if she would need to parse it, he was never much good at metaphors. “Basically, if you think there’s a person you’ve got cause to fear, I can probably just kill him.” He paused, seemed simple enough. “But, if it’s a weed you need killin’, well then you gotta start at the root, and yank,” he pantomimed ripping up a weed. “Which is to say, if its an organization you’re having trouble with, I’ll probably need to build a bomb.” He thought and considered further. “I suppose, though, a wealthy young woman such as yourself could be involved in business more complicated than that. Where just killing someone or blowing something up ain’t necessarily the answer—I’ve always been a simple man, myself—in which case we might need to think a little harder, but I ain’t afraid of learning something new. Mynock always says I’ve only got one solution to most problems.” He, only now, finished the second drink. . . . upstairs. “So then, Bella, I reckon it comes down to a few simple questions. Who do you think is trying to kill you, a person or a group? What kind of resources can they bring to bear on that nasty fantasy? And what do they have to gain by doing so?” He paused, giving her time to consider his questions before hastily adding, “oh, and what are the odds they accept packages without scanning ‘em first?”

[member="Dahlia"]

 

[Dahlia]

Dahlia canted her head slightly, watching Alaric as he recounted things her father had said. It was funny, she could almost hear the words in her father's voice. Something tugged at her – nostalgia, maybe. She'd never been much of a sentimentalist, but she had to admit, it was nice to remember him every now and then.

“An idealist with a gun,” She echoed, a slight smile curling her lips.

She turned slightly, sipping and listening. Yes, she was part of a crime family. Dahlia was clean on the surface, but she always felt that her soul was dirty. There were no fancy clothes, perfumes, or makeup that could help her there. Dirty deeds, it was just business. But, she had always been fairly sheltered, protected. She had those in her employ that went out in the dark and took to the streets, doing her bidding – whether it was selling spice, collecting payments, or... killing. She always had someone in her ear, telling her what the next move was. But now, things were different...

“Mynock,” Dahlia asked, a brow arching gracefully. But, then her dark eyes trailed towards the girl. Ah, yes, that was her name. She'd forgotten... and she'd nearly forgotten the girl was there.

Dahlia thought long and hard, tapping her chin quietly with a manicured index finger.

“Organization,” She answered finally, looking to Alaric. “I don't know if you're familiar with the so-called Flying Dragons,” Dahlia set her glass down on an end table and retrieved a shiny datapad. After a moment, she turned the glowing screen towards the silver-haired man. Dahlia took in Alaric's features, cast in the light of the screen – a foreign character prominently displayed. “Atrisian.” She said, darkly. The symbol was entwined with a green dragon. “Their group has grown more than I'd like to admit.”

A breezy sigh escaped the woman, she handed the datapad over, should he wish to continue studying the character. Lifting her glass again, she paused to take a sip. “My sister, Calypso, was rather a bold woman, as you might remember. Her style was... brazen, it was loud.” While Dahlia smoldered, Calypso was the one that exploded. “She crossed them, I don't know the details. But, I think it was enough of an insult or threat that they took care of her...”

“While the Dragons are based on Atrisia, they have many branches elsewhere – even here.” She gestured widely towards the windows, where the city skyline twinkled innocently.

[member="Alaric Marãll"]