Let them Eat the dirt of the Grave

[James Justice]

James gripped the bottle in his free hand, watching the liquor swirl in the dark night, the glint of the neon lights shimmered off its surface and the glass around it in a beautiful flicker. It was amazing what sentience in the galaxy could do. On one hand, they could make the wonders of the galaxy--mainly liquor, spice, and hyperspace travel. On the other, they could annihilate cities for small grievances. James was mortified at how horrible beings could be, how Dal'Bor had been reduced to ash for the pure evils of humanity. He shook his head, the pain of hearing his people's last moment's rang in his ears. They had counted on him, and he had failed them.

There was so much death and horror in the galaxy, did they really need more?

The answer to that, was hell yes.

He wouldn't stop until the Arch Prince who had emasculated James knew his pain. He wouldn't stop until every one of those metal-headed cyborgs who harmed him died in the most intimate, painful ways that only he could devise. They had slaughtered innocent women, children, and men for a mistake James made.

The spacer drained the last few mouthfuls from his bottle before tossing it at a passing speeder. It shattered into a thousand pieces on the speeder's metal flat surface. James shoved both of his hands in his pocket, making his way towards one of the nearby nightclubs of the dark, dangerous Nal Hutta's underbelly. Of the dark, trashy planet, this was one of the darkest, most despite districts. If you vanished here, there was a strong chance your organs surfaced the next day on the black market. James smirked, he pitied any dumb fool who bought his livers.

The spacer turned in to one of the seediest night clubs of the sector. The strobing pink and line green lights highlighted the flirty dancers mounting their poles and the stage, showing every thing they had for their night's work. They were undoubtedly slaves, badly mistreated. Before James would have led holy hell here to free them. James hardly gave them a passing glance. He was here on business. He had to get vengeance. His soul had been hardened, and for one of the first times in his life--pleasure would wait for business. He made his way to the red-skinned woman in the back. James emerged from the thick smoke like a ghost from the past. They had met once before, but hardly had talked. They had worked on a job for the infamous Miss Blonde. And now he needed her services.

"James Justice," he said sitting next to her without asking for permission. His dark brown eyes turned to hers, "I have a job offer for ye."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva was hardly known for her subtly. Aside from her new tattoo masking her sharp features, and utterly erasing her tribal markings from view thanks to the vibrant glow of the club's blacklights, there was no mistaking the Blood Matron for anyone else in the galaxy. The eccentric gown sheathing her toned physique was utterly out of place for the seedy districts of Nal Hutta. Or most of the swampy world for that matter. Zenva was unafraid of the so called dangers of the Planet however. She was, after all, well known throughout Hutt Space. Of course, the two IG Series Droids flanking her was likely the only reason she had managed to secure a private table in this particular chithole club.

The Matron sipped her whiskey idly, her fierce yellow-red eyes tracking the movements of a particularly attractive Twi'lek dancing nearby. Might be better to burn this place to the ground, and build anew. She thought fleetingly before her train of thought was derailed as a man suddenly plopped down on her little couch. The Zabrak's face wrinkled bitterly as the powerful scent of alcohol that accompanied her uninvited guest assailed her senses.

Immediately her Driod guards stepped forward, all but pointing their rifles at the man's back. Zenva's hand came up quickly, halting her killing machines. The Zabrak drew away from her guest, not out of fear, merely to escape his immediate space. She wafted her free hand before her face as if to dispell the scent of him. "Not to be terribly rude, Mister Justice," She paused, her plump lips curling in a smile. "Or should I say, The Runner? But typically I require my employers to shower before we conduct business."

Her hand shot up, offering a placating gesture. "But!" She continued quickly before the man could reply. "Clearly something is troubling you, so I'll make an exception." She slide her bottle of whiskey, cheap as it was by her standards, to the center of the table. "How may I be of assistance, Mister Justice?"

[member="James Justice"]

 

[James Justice]

James had nothing left to lose at this point. He didn't pay the droids any mind as they moved in to kill him. If Zenva wouldn't have stopped the mechanical guards, he would have died right there without so much as a finger lifted to defend himself. The spacer's personality had changed from surviving at any cost and beating the odds to a careless wreck. It was amazing what losing everything could do to you.

He gave a humorless smirk at Zenva's comment. He was glad she had made the connection, it would spare him having to tease that bit out. He took the bottle of whiskey and took a swig straight from it. It was cheap liquor, but it was liquor and that's what mattered. James had worse in his quest to forget everything and everyone. He offered her the bottle once he had taken his pull from it.

"Mister Justice were me father," he said, settling into the plush but filthy seat under him. "I'm James. Or Runner if ye prefer fer old time's sake." The spacer reached into his pocket, fishing out a cigarette. He extended the pack of cheap smokes to Zenva, giving her a chance to take one too.

"The short version be, I need to kill people," smoke streamed from his lips as James spoke. "And ye are the only one I know with the skill and willingness to help me do it," he paused. There were many ways and individuals willing to kill in this galaxy for a quick credit. But what James had in mind was so much worse than simply shooting someone or stabbing them. No, this was by far more immoral and dangerous. "I need ye to help me destroy the food supply of Theta. We be destabilizing the local government."

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Zabrak chuckled dryly, "James then." She leaned forward, plucking one of the offered cigarettes from the pack. She set it between her plump lips, and maintained her close proximity until the Spacer lite the cigarette for her. When he did Zenva reclined once more in her seat, taking a long drag from the cigarette. How this man had survived as long as he did was an absolute mystery to the Crimson Lady. The diet of cheap smokes, and bathtub booze surely would have killed a lesser man by now.

Zenva listened in silence as James laid out the short version of the job he wanted her help with. Her hairless brows rose slowly as he spoke. Her disbelief likely hidden beneath the glow of her tattoo. "Well that's a hell of a job, James." Smoked oozed lazily from the woman's mouth as she spoke. "And an expensive one." She added almost as an after thought.

She turned away slightly, her gaze searching the club for a moment as she took another hit from her cigarette. "That's not something you and I can accomplish alone. I can call up at least eighty men. Hardened, experienced men that I trust with my life. I would feel better doing this with more." She paused to sip whiskey from the glass in her hand, leaving the bottle to the Spacer.

"I suppose, if you want to front the extra costs, we could use the clones I have. An extra hundred and sixty men, give or take. They've never seen live combat before though, so I can't say how well they will preform." Once more she paused, her fierce yellow-red eyes searching James's face. "Out of curiosity, how drunk are you, James?"

[member="James Justice"]

 

[James Justice]

James nodded at both of Zenva's assessments. It would be expensive. And it would be one hell of a job. He was more than ready for it. The hardest part was yet to come. He didn't know how much Zenva knew about the planet, considering they were off the beaten path. James had found out quite a bit being their neighbor, and even more on his quest for revenge. "The planet is locked down air tight. There truly only be one way in and they have it locked so tight, not even I could get through without Stygium."

Thankfully, the Nestis Cora had that.

"Money ain't a problem," James said before taking another pull from the bottle of whiskey. He looked in her golden eyes, undeterred. For a moment, he wondered why the had never done it. Then he was reminded about her whole pain thing that Zenva was into. He had given some of it a chance for Anara, and only because she had meant so much to him. He had never gone as deep as her Sithy ways had likely wanted. But he had only done it for her, and never had a desire to go back. That was too bad, he had a thing for red. And Zenva looked amazing.

"Eighty is all I can slide past the blockade," he said at last. "Blastin' their mating matrix demoralized them, but not quite enough. Not yet."

He gave several puffs from his cigarette, fuming with rage. Her question broke it. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette. Thick white smoke escaped his lips as he answered what every drunk said, including himself, when asked that question. "Not drunk enough." His eyes went to a woman who passed by, temporarily distracting him from the job. She was scantly clad, even for this region of the galaxy. What little was covered was covered in a pair of stick-on tassels and a shimmering gold thong. His thoughts were not only mixed with what could have been expected but a tinge of pain--she reminded him of a dancer he knew back on Dal'bor before the city went up in ash. He didn't know if she got out or not. But he was almost certain her pregnancy was his. His eyes went back to Zenva's full of hate and resolve instead of lust and haze.

"We can start killing the moment ye are ready," he said, his voice tense. "Whatever ye price. Done. Whatever ye need. Done." he clenched his fist, sparks of purple dark side energy played in James' eyes and crisscrossed his knuckles. They were feint enough to almost be lost in the lightshow around them. "But they will all die."

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva turned away briefly, her true expression hidden behind the glowing death head. She sipped her whiskey in silence for a moment. Took another drag of her cigarette as she watched the crowd. "Alright, James." She said, her voice ringing sweetly.

She turned back to the ragged Spacer, her serrated teeth gleaming vividly in the club's blacklight as she flashed a wicked grin. "I'll help you. In a few weeks, let's say two for now, you will meet my fleet at a location of your choice. If I can't find you, I'll open a bay for you to land this stealth craft of yours in. You can accept or dismiss any of the team that I will have selected, but we use my people."

Again she paused to take another puff of her cigarette, exhaling the cloud away from her "old friend". " I will pay them personally. You and I can discuss reimbursement later. Acceptable?" She smiled almost sweetly, sipping her whiskey again.

[member="James Justice"]