Little Birds

[Nadir]

“Remember, Mun. You’re drunk.” Her voice took on a slight edge, but only her partner would be able to notice the change. Huginn was nervous. Certainly, she looked more intimidating than [member="Munin"], what with her eight arms and imposing stature, but she wasn’t a violent person. Loose of morals, yes, but never one for direct conflict.

This would have to be handled tactfully.

Red Rook silenced his group, halfway across the packed, smoked air of the bar. With a broad hand, the tall brute took off his red buy’ce and revealed a face whose color and texture closely resembled a well-ploughed field back on Mandalore. His eyes were cold, aware. The man muttered something to a fellow merc, then gestured to their table.

Huginn stiffened in her seat, feeling for the blaster obscured by the laminated surface. If worse comes to worst.

“Whaddaya two want?” He walked and talked like a pig, and his beady eyes reflected a similar level of intelligence. The infochant sighed internally. Not this one.

“We’d like to talk to your superior, if you would,” Huginn said regardless, holding his steely gaze.

“Hah! If ye would. Rook was right, said you was posh shivits. Yer fresh meat, and I’m feelin’ generous today.” He leaned closer, bracing two greasy paws on their table. “Git yer asses back to the Core an’ don’t show yer green troanii back here. Nadir’s gonna eat ye alive, bones an’ all.”

With a final, toothless grin, the Mando pushed off and shoved his way back to the group. Two of them barked, laughing, and the others handed over a few credit chits.

“Well.”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Munin simply sat in his seat, swaying slightly as though he were intoxicated. The young man did not show any emotion as the Mandalorian spoke, in fact he hardly seemed to recognize his presence at all. Instead he simply sat in his seat, moving slightly from side to side and catching himself every time he came too close to falling over.

Eventually when the man walked away Munin spoke.

"Good." He said almost silently. "Now we can kill them."

That was a bit of an exaggeration, and a leap. "Perhaps the rest of this station too."

His solution was probably overkill, but Munin was fairly sure that this entire place deserved a good healthy dose of nerve toxin. The information broker wasn't usually one inclined to violence, that was more Huginn, but after having walked through Point Nadir, Munin was entirely sure that a cleansing or too wouldn't have been too bad. Perhaps it would have even been a good thing for the galaxy, considering the type of company that this place kept.

 

[Nadir]

Any displeasure she felt at the turn of the conversation disappeared in an instant. Eyes wide, Huginn turned to [member="Munin"], surprise etched clearly across her features.

“Mun!”

Her brow furrowed as she leveled him with her best serious glare. “Don’t say such things. Somebody will hear.” And given the clientele of the dirty pub, there was no way that could end well. Best case, they’d be chucked out on the back alley along with the trash. Worst case, they would be the trash.

The broker shuddered and pushed the unpleasant thought out of her mind.

“You know as well as I do that we often need to deal with… less savory types in this business. Chin up! We can’t let this setback get to us. Clearly we… misjudged. We must change our approach.”

Huginn peered at her datalogger under the table. Two more hours until their next engagement. They had time.

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Munin harrumphed.

This place was a pit.

There was no other way to describe it. Point Nadir was like someone had decided they would take all the organic refuse in the galaxy that had somehow manifested sentience and simply thrown it into a single place. That was the best way to describe the station, at least it was to Munin. He frowned for a moment, shifting his weight in the chair and looking over to Huginn who seemed to actually be enjoying herself among the waste. He frowned then shifted his weight.

"Perhaps." He began, still grumpy. "Next time Naboo will break out into war and we can attend some Gala's."

One could only hope. "You could wear a dress."

The suggestion came as a way to alleviate himself of some of the pain he currently felt. This place was truly awful, and although he understood their mission, the importance of it, he couldn't quite get over where they were. It seemed an odd thing for someone like him, an Information Broker that regularly dealt with these sorts of people, but then again Munin had always been an odd one.

 

[Nadir]

“Me? A dress?” Huginn shook her head, then flagged down their waitress for a bill. If they even issued bills here. Probably not. “Now you’re just being ridiculous, Mun.” The broker patted his shoulder, then squeezed it in reassurance.

“But we can attend some gala, sure.” When the time would come, eventually, [member="Munin"] was the only one that would be going. They both knew that; it’s just how it turned out every time, for one reason or another. His partner was full of excuses and slippery ideas to get herself out of such formal social obligations. And in the end, why? There was no doubt in her mind which of them excelled more in sussing information out of people, and which out of technology.

Huginn paid and led them out of the pub through the door in the back; the one that allowed them to avoid Red Rook and his group.

Outside, the broker lit a cigarette and pulled in a deep lungful. A soft sigh of pleasure escaped her lips shortly after along with a thick cloud of blue smoke. “We need a different approach, Mun. And a different bar.”

And maybe a middleman. Just insofar as to act as a trustworthy courier for their offers. ‘Trustworthy’ for these parts, anyway. Which meant ugly, mean-looking, and good with a blaster.

Joy.

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He frowned. "Fine."

Slowly Munin stood from his place.

If this wasn't going to work, then they would take a different approach, an approach that he would lead. Quickly he moved to his partner's side, his eyes wandering across the room as he began to search for something. No one had ever accused Munin of being full of charisma, nor had they accused him of being a gentlemen, but the idea that he now had required both of those qualities. Of course it helped that they were essentially in a slum.

"We need a whore." Munin said plainly. He didn't use the term in a derisive manner, but a simple acknowledgement of a profession. "A pretty one."

That was what men like Mandalorians would respond to. He looked over to Huginn. "The response will be far better then if we approach them."

Munin wasn't very pretty after all.

 

[Nadir]

“A whore.”

For a moment, she stared at [member="Munin"] as if he’d gone mad. Then the other broker elaborated, and his plan started making more sense. Still, it was far from optimal. What was optimal in this hellhole, though?

Frowning, Huginn nodded, albeit slowly.

“Well. I must admit I didn’t research the possibility before we departed. We’ll have to ask around for the… red light district, I believe?” Unsure, she lifted an eyebrow and met Mun’s stare to double check. Prostitution wasn’t exactly her area of expertise. She understood the business side of things as well as any other profit-oriented enterprise – in this, it differed very little, if at all – but the physical aspect was a complete unknown.

“You will likely make for a more convincing customer.”

Even as she spoke, Huginn knew that her partner would be displeased at the very idea. He would come around, though. He always did.

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He gave Huggin a flat look.

"They are filthy." That was really all he had to say. "No."

Of course it was his plan, so in the end he would indeed have to be the one that had to act it all out, but that still didn't make it any better. He wondered briefly if they had time to get an Human Replica Droid, thinking that a synthetic might be more viable. Of course that dream was quickly melted away with the searing heat of reality. HRD's not only cost millions but also required time to create, he and Huginn had neither time nor money, at least not right now.

"I don't want to." He objected again.

"We go to the red light district." He said with a finger pointed out the door. "Then we can speak of it."

Maybe.

 

[Nadir]

Trampling her urge to sigh, Huginn merely nodded and raised one of her many arms in a futile attempt to flag down a speeding taxi. If limits existed in this vile netherhole, everyone and their mother was breaking them at every turn. But she strongly suspected that whatever passed as authority here on Nadir never bothered in the first place. Pick your battles, and whatnot.

After a few woefully unsuccessful attempts, the pair of brokers finally caught a public transport barge. What followed were the longest five minutes of her life, chock-full of sweaty, filthy bodies; covered in scales, fur, feathers and armor, the writhing mass of flesh and technology reeked of greed and alcohol. Numerous grubby hands clamored and grasped at pockets, bags, and cargo, desperate to fleece the less savvy passengers of their credits and valuables.

Say what you will, but size could make all the difference in these situations. Even the most hardened of criminals and bottom-feeders on the barge ducked away at the sight of a hulking besalisk with a glare of steel and eight arms to back up the unspoken threat.

“We’re here. Speak.”

They had other business to attend to still, and this affair was beginning to drag on. And that just wouldn’t do.

[member="Munin"]

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"These people are filthy." He said plainly, and truthfully. There wasn't much on Point Nadir that wasn't covered with a layer of dirt and grime. Munin was pretty sure that this entire station could have doubled as a waste disposal site, in fact, it probably did. He frowned for a moment and looked at their surrounding, the blinking red lights, the prostitutes, the guards that stood beside them. It was unseemly, but that didn't really bother the information broker.

He could handle the harsher facts of life.

He just didn't want to have to touch them. "I'm not touching any of them."

Munin reiterated his thoughts out loud. As long as he made that point clear he at the very least could stand to do this work. The Information Broker wasn't going to be a baby about the whole thing. He knew why they were here, he knew what they had to do, and even though he wanted to complain, and had every right to, he knew that it was better to just get it over with.

"Find a pretty one." He said with a sigh. "Nothing else will do."

 

[Nadir]

Frustration was now drawing visible lines into Huginn’s face. She looked neither young nor old; in fact, to any non-besalisk, her true age would be indiscernible. But in that moment, Huginn did appear dreadfully tired. Not from the weight of years – though she carried plenty – but rather from the mounting burden of their predicament.

“This was a mistake,” she murmured under her breath. With a calming breath, she swallowed the sea of profanities that threatened to break past the dam of her thinning lips.

“How—” she started, then stopped. Pulled [member="Munin"] into a side alley, checked it twice, and released the clip on her holster. Just in case.

“How are you planning on convincing a whore to work for us without even touching her, Mun?” Even reduced to a whisper, her voice was severe. Irritation borne of failure, she knew. Failure to succeed in their initial attempt. Failure to adhere to a schedule. Failure to be rid of this filthy station as fast as possible.

“And you know damn well my taste in… humanoid thinglings is skewed.” By skewed, the infochant of course meant nonexistent. She wasn’t attracted even to her own species, for cred’s sake.

“Might as well ask a blind man to show you the way.”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He gave his partner a simple frown, then began to look around them.

There were actually a surprising amount of beautiful women around, though all of them were slightly askew. Not in their looks, but in how they carried themselves. One could hardly blame them given the conditions that they lived in, and in truth, Munin felt for them. He could do nothing about their situation, so it was best to ignore the thought. Slowly he moved through the district, his eyes slowly falling over everything around them, his lips parting to answer Huginn. "I will pay her."

That was a simple answer.

A surprisingly truthful one as well.

Eventually Munin found exactly what he was looking for. She was a young girl, probably the same age as himself, her hair was long and blonde, her eyes were an odd greenish color, and upon her cheek sat tribal markings that identified her as Kiffar. Munin had no idea what she was doing here, nor had he any idea how someone who should have deep tribal connections was here, without her tribe. Munin approached her with a tall, confident walk.

He didn't try to lie to her, he didn't try to put her down or make her feel bad. He simply told her the truth, that he would give her a home her eon Point Nadir, that he would give her a monthly stipend, and that all she would have to do is listen.

 

[Nadir]

They wandered for a bit. Huginn did her best to not look bored. About five minutes in, she gave up and whipped out her re-wired datalogger. Unlocked, jailbroken, rooted; call it what you will. The casing was the only remnant to the device she’d once bought, eons ago it seemed. Throughout the years, she’d tinkered, upgraded, and revamped the little computer more times than there were criminals on Nar Shaddaa.

Okay, so maybe not that many.

While [member="Munin"] explained the situation to the nice lady of the night, the other infochant hung back. She’d plastered an appropriately menacing expression on her face to support the illusion of a silent bodyguard. Most humanoid thinglings couldn’t tell besalisk genders apart, and her many limbs only added to the threat. Quiet, brooding. It’d do.

Her partner was, for all his smooth talk and manners, an efficient one. If the whore had looked skeptical in the beginning, the mention of all the amenities had certainly opened her up to the deal. By the end, she was nodding enthusiastically, eyes bright.

Huginn crossed an item off her list. Tipped her head to the girl.

“Shall we?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

It wasn't a subtle deal, not at all really, but it was a good one.

Many people saw informants as miscreants, tools, and things to eventually be thrown away. Munin knew better however. To him, every single informant, no matter whore or politician, was a valuable asset that could be controlled and grown. He knew that this woman wasn't the finest, and she was most certainly not the smartest, but she would learn. That was what mattered. The two of them had now made a contract, well, more like the three of them. Munin and Huginn would give her a home, an income, and all she would have to do is listen.

He had bought her services, but he had also bought something more important; Loyalty.

If he followed through with all of his promises, and he certainly intended do, then she would be loyal to him and Huginn for life.

That was the truly important thing that happened here. Loyalty in informants was more important then anything. Those that weren't loyal delivered false information, bad leads, and worst of all traps. Munin and Huginn couldn't help that. He lead the two women through the streets of Point Nadir, eventually reaching what could be described as a small inlet within the walls. A Hovel really, but an apartment building that he and Huginn 'owned'.

 

[Nadir]

In the end, [member="Munin"] used their universal approach to informants. Unlike many people in their line of work, the pair didn’t abuse and discard their agents like trash. They treated them well, better even than most common employers. The risk the informants were running by funneling intel to the brokers proportionally increased their profits. Everyone was kept happy, safe (as possible), and – most importantly – satisfied.

It was the only good recipe for a long and lasting network of contacts. That, in turn, was the foundation for any information empire worth its salt.

Huginn glanced down the street both ways, carefully unlocking the door with no visible mechanism in place. A peculiar system she’d devised herself a few years ago while dabbling with the security measures for their main base. She’d craft an unique key for the whore later, once they’d gotten her settled in the apartment proper.

“It’s upstairs,” the besalisk gestured to the left while she busied herself with the door. Never could be too sure around these parts. “Feel free to look around.”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

He watched for a moment as the girl began to wander. She was rather shy about the whole thing, taking careful and tentative steps through the building as though she were exploring. They would be giving her one of the top apartments, not the entire building.

The building itself was empty really, and in truth Munin doubted that they would be filling it with anyone besides her, but having this entire space? Well it provided a measure of safety. Not to mention that beneath the structure was a small space where Munin and Huginn themselves stayed. It was far more secure then the building itself, hooked up to their central dataserver back at home. It was nothing fancy, but like the rest of the building it would do.

"She'll be comfortable here." Munin noted.

Her comfort didn't really matter of course, her loyalty did.

"We'll have to instruct her on who to speak to." He said, then slowly continued on. "And how."

 

[Nadir]

The besalisk gave a curt nod, but only paid absent attention. Her eyes were glued to the strings of data scrolling over her screen, fingers tapping a command every so often. There was schedule, and then there was Huginn. Just because their initial plan had gone awry didn’t mean that her whole day had to go to waste.

Still, [member="Munin"]’s words brought her gaze away from the datalogger. She arched an eyebrow.

“We’re going to tell a whore how to approach a customer?”

Crossing her legs, the broker leaned back in the dingy chair in the foyer. Her expression was lax, but her partner would likely notice the corner of her mouth twitching upwards.

“Mun, unless you have side job I know nothing about, I don’t think we have much to offer in that department.” She turned off her datalogger, directing all of her attention at the other infochant. “But yes, I suppose you’re correct as to the ‘who’. Mandalorians shouldn’t be too hard to find around here, though.”

The chair squealed as it scraped the bare ferrocrete floor. Huginn stood, stepped through the door. “Faelse? Could you come here for a minute, please?”

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

"I'm not concerned about her approach." Was all that Munin said on the subject. The fact was they were here for a specific purpose, to gather information. It was the only thing their jobs relied on. The girl would do a fine job at making introductions, would do a grand job at staying with the Mandalorians, but that wasn't Munin's concern.

His concern was what would happen after.

He watched for a moment as the girl approached. Despite his...rough exterior, and his incessant need to not be caught within the dirty and grime of the world. He frowned for a moment and looked around, the thought of dirt making him watch the walls. The moment passed however and quickly he re-focused himself to pay more attention to what Huginn was doing. The two of them had been partners long enough that he could read her quite well, but in the moment he was drawing a blank.

Perhaps she was going to instruct the girl.

Or not.

 

[Nadir]

As the humanoid strolled closer, Huginn appraised her again. Objective data said she was a fine specimen for their purposes. Not stunningly beautiful – which would be a hindrance by being memorable – but certainly not ugly. She was just attractive enough to catch the eye of their prospective clientele.

After all, the broker doubted that Mandalorians who frequented pits like Nadir were particularly choosy. Faelse would do.

“Take this, please,” Huginn spoke and offered two transparent stickers on a plastic tab, barely larger than a human fingernail. “Put one in the concha… ah, hollow of your ear, yes, like that. And the other on your throat, right there. Wonderful.”

She smiled, remembered she looked even more terrifying that way, and quickly wiped the expression off her face.

“My partner here is a little worried, is all. Think of it as a failsafe if you find yourself in need of assistance.” With keen eyes, Huginn scrutinized the girl for any signs of apprehension, and was satisfied to find none. The humanoid looked surprisingly confident. No doubt the high pay and lodgings enamored her to her new employers.

“Now, we like our ravens to be as self sufficient as possible. You seem like a very capable woman to me, Faelse, so I doubt you’ll ever need our help.” She paused and gave a reassuring nod. “If you do, however, don’t hesitate to contact us. Your job is important.”

Never mind that they said that to every agent in their employ. When people felt privileged, they did their work with more zeal. Devotion and loyalty were what distinguished their ravens from the credit-scroungers that other brokers used.

Well. Devotion, loyalty, and state-of-the-art technology.

[member="Munin"]

 

[Munin]

[member="Huginn"]

Munin didn't interrupt, in fact, he didn't say a single thing. He didn't want to ruin the moment, the bonding. It was an important thing. Usually their little Birds would form a bond with either of them, Either Munin or Huginn would take the honor. It didn't really matter which one received their loyalty, it didn't really matter which one they saw. Munin and Huginn were one and the same. They shared a bond that few could understand.

It wasn't some mystical thing born of the force.

It wasn't some freak genetic experiment.

It wasn't some ancient technological effect that had inexplicably placed them together.

It had been choice.

Munin and Huginn had chosen one another. They had done what many were unable to do, what most couldn't even think about doing. They had chosen one another as family. Whereas most beings were born into their families, where they found love, respect, perhaps even decency right off the bat, Huginn and Munin had not. They had suffered, toiled away, lived their lives down trodden and half broken, that was until they had found one another.

They had made a choice, a choice to become family. A choice to never betray, never work against. They were a family. They shared no blood, no genes, no appearance, and perhaps not even names, but they were a family nonetheless.

They needed no more then that.