Low Life

[Kenth Typho]

Nar Shaddaa
Igor’s Tapani Palace
Bathroom

"Elliot Locke." He said the name. Cold water dripped from his cheek as he started into the reflection of the mirror. It was a beat-up face, bruises healed, but there was still something of pain lingering on that expression.

His last operation had been about infiltrating an illegal fighting ring, to get to a wider sentient trafficking group.

Success.

But getting his face caved in every two days, just to get their trust and their smiles? That was a painful experience in more than one way. There was a soft churn in his stomach, alcohol humming and keeping most of the pain at bay.

"Elliot Locke." He repeated the name one more time. What does it mean? It was him, right? But did it really matter? Behind him a couple of aliens, rodian and a twi'lek were exchanging weird looks, while pissing their problem away.

Public bathroom, right.

"Don't worry, lads. I am already done here." Elly mumbled, before stepping out and back into the dirty eating tent. It was a crappy place, but cheap and that was all that mattered for now. Once again he found himself in the chair, notches on the post and splinters aplenty.

He started to wave for a waiter.

Feth, the hunger was getting real.

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

Location: Igor’s Tapani Palace

The Devaronain that appeared from behind the thinly curtained kitchen caught the motion of Elliot’s gesture, but chose to ignore it. Instead, he approached the gruff looking human male at the counter, his build more reminiscent of a shockboxer than a host. The human gave the red skinned man a growl, tilting his chin towards their newest customer. There were a few uncomfortably small tables in the front of the restaurant, but most of their patrons took their food to go. No such luck this time. In house diners were a hassle, and though none of them would say that outright, they’d make it apparent.

Not bothering to hide his distaste or the roll of his eyes, the Devaronian hastily grabbed a paper menu from the counter and walked over to Elliot’s table. Tossing the menu down unceremoniously, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his weight to one side. “What’ll it be?” Heavy hints of impatience were woven into his voice. To him, this was just a temporary gig until he could get something better, or move into a more secure smuggling ring. He didn’t really know what this place’s deal was, but it seemed to be a well-guarded secret and he’d lost interest if he couldn’t get his cut.

Back at the counter, the bald man almost went back to occupying himself with his datapad, but his sideways glance lingered on Elliot. He seemed familiar. Or did he? He had to have seen that face somewhere. Or something like it. Something like…

Grunting, he rummaged under the counter for something, moving aside empty, dirty glasses as he went. It took a few seconds for him to retrieve what he’d tossed there carelessly a few days ago—a photo, grainy and from the restaurant’s security feed. Keep this picture in case he comes around again. The Zeltron had told him, her mouth set in a firm line. He’s been lingering around here for a few weeks. He might be casing the joint.

Few knew what really went on beneath the structure.

Glancing from the picture to Elliot, then the picture again, he let out a mix of a grunt and a sight. Maybe he’d better call Pink to be safe. Better safe than to deal with an upset woman.

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

[member="Joza Perl"]

"Lad, that attitude might work in the dinghole you call your neighbourhood, but..." Locke looked up now and grinned his teethy grin. Too much teeth to be called warm or cheeky, no, it was the mammal's version of barring their teeth right before they bite out your throat.

"...in here you gonna be a nice little lad, or I will shove that menu so far up your arse, you gonna throw up letters for the next month."

Was that Elliot? No, that was Reggie, the boxer. His hand was already balled in a fist, knees ready to jump and plaster the Devorian's face over the floor with his boot.

Steady breaths... five, four, three, two, one.

"Let's start again. I'd like your week special with a..." He glanced over to the menu card. "Number four and six, please."

Elly couldn't help but grin again. This one told another tale: if i taste something strange, you are gonna be rescheduled with my boot for an intimate appointment.

 

[Joza Perl]

The horned kid was used to rough talk, but didn’t expect to be threatened with literal word vomit this time. The toothy grin and the aggressive words were enough to cause him to almost reel back, grimacing with a “what did I say?!” look.

He quickly scratched the numbers down, regardless. “Right. Your number is 28.” A pause. “Have a nice day.” He didn’t sound like he meant it, but he wasn’t snarky either. Grumbling to himself, the Devaronian scurried off towards the kitchen before being intercepted by the man behind the counter who placed a heavy hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I’m on break. You work the front.” He gave the boy a shove towards the counter, plucking the order from his hand as he did so before disappearing behind the curtain and into the kitchen. A cloud of cigarette smoke wafted into the immediate area before he curtain fell back into place.

A handful minutes would pass by, uneventful save for the sound of the loud Mrlssti chatter in the kitchen. One of the birdlike creatures would pull back the kitchen curtain, a piece of paper in his hand. “Uhh…order number 28, 28? Could you come confirm something for a second?” He didn’t know why the man needed to be called over, but he did as instructed. Beside him, a darkly clad figure leaned against the wall, pink face showing no amusement.

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

He really started to wonder what was wrong today.

The previous times Elly had been here it hadn't been nearly as rude and... strange. Dirty, sure. Apathetic to the needs of their clientele, oh definitely. But that was all par course when you were dealing with a food establishment in the heartland of Nar Shaddaa. This was different. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. That was the one key flaw he could discover within himself: after all these years, he saw ghosts everywhere.

Didn't help that more often than not those ghosts turned out to be real.

Made him question if what he was doing was healthy, self-destructive or an uncomfortable mix of both.

"Alright." He called over, before standing up from his chair. No drinks had been had yet. Completely centered- he had a couple of knives spread around his body, his trusty stun gun strapped to his leg and another knife in his boot.

Sounded about right. Elly walked over, but kept an amicable distance from the alien -- not that he had anything against aliens, but he wasn't completely sure what this one was and didn't want to intrude on possible personal space. You had a whole range of species in the Galaxy; from the zeltroni who didn't mind being literally on top of you, to the Givin who needed as much space as you could possibly grant them.

"What's the problem?"

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

If there was one thing Joza Perl was known for, it wasn’t her underground business ferrying slaves from the hands of their Masters to a safer environment. Sure, she made no effort to hide the fact that she was an anti-slavery proponent, but to what extent? Joining in a few raids? Then it was off to make cosmetics and teach in her dance studio. She was just bouncy enough, just vapid enough to be overlooked. No one seemed particularly interested in what she did unless she was showing a bit of skin or swinging her hips, and even then it was only to their mild amusement.

At times it grated on her, but then she’d be off doing Force knows what else.

She was far more careful, far more paranoid than her history would tell. Joza monitored most interactions around Igor’s quietly, raising the alarm very carefully. Most of the employees weren’t even sure what exactly went on in the back rooms, but they didn’t seem to care. This was Nar Shaddaa. Turning a blind eye was routine, often necessary to survival. But as Elliot kept a bit of distance, the Mrlssti seemed a bit nervous, large eyes casting a quick sideways glance to the stern woman a few feet to his side. Her expression was nearly imperceptible, but her brow furrowed quickly when the bird-like alien glanced over.

Subtle, she had said!

When she extended a hand, the bird nearly squawked, skittering a tic to the side, afraid that he’d done something wrong. He had no reason to believe that Joza was not particularly wrathful, even though she was not. Violence and aggression were a means to an end, but only sparingly, and even then they were not forgotten. An invisible pressure would press against Elliot’s back, as if he were being pushed from behind. Not enough to cause him to fall, but if caught off guard, the man would likely stumble closer to the kitchen. Close enough for a cybernetic hand to reach out and grab him by the lapel of his shirt, dragging him closer. Close enough to the point where he’d feel the warmth of her body and the heat of her breath drift across his ear.

“I just want to talk.”

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

Yeah, something was definitely off.

The moment the bird started looking to the side and displayed that twitchy behavior, the alarm bells started ringing in his head. Didn't help that the moment he tried to step back, something shoved at him in the back - freaking Forcers, he thought to himself, as Elly stepped forward to compensate.

Last thing he needed was to get fall down and get kicked in the face.

The cybernetic arm clenching down on him and pulling him in was a surprise. As was the warm body pressing against him, the hot breath weaving across his ear, but by then it was a bit too late to switch courses.

The taserblade was already out and its point touching the abdominal region of the zeltron. It was a particularly painful place, if he applied just enough pressure it would go straight through her intestines and go septic. But it was her face that stopped him from causing permanent harm.

"You." He replied incredulously. "Karking zeltron girl. Didn't I save your ass over at Atrisia?"

Small world, but that only made him more suspicious. The hell was she doing here and why?

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

Maybe she should have reached out and crept her paralytic mentalism into his limbs, freezing him in place before he knew it. Or maybe he would know it. But right now, she didn’t particularly care, so long as she could get a good look at his face. And she was doing exactly that, organic hand cupping his chin with a firm grasp, olive eyes searching his rugged features. The knife at her abdomen didn’t seem to perturb her, but that was only because of the skintight armor worn beneath her cloak. A gift from Noriko Ike, the dancer’s armor would protect from sabers and blades, but offered no resistance from, say, getting tossed into a wall.

The kitchen crew gave them a wide berth, but no more nervous glances. They were busy.

Her face screwed up, partially in irritation and partially in relief. “Oh,” She sighed. “You’re not him.” Not the man she was looking for, the one from the image, who’s face she’d scrutinized and memorized indefinitely. They looked similar, but were not the same person. It took a few moments for her to absorb what he’d said before blinking, the sharp look dropping from her face for a moment to give way for adequate surprise. “Atrisia?”

Again, it took her some time to dig into her memory banks and dredge out that mess of a battle. Atrisia. Yes, he’d taken down the Chiss who had shot at her.

“You didn’t save me.” She insisted, her pride wounded by the thought that she needed assistance. Realizing that her hand was still cupping his chin, she released him and glanced down towards the knife before shifting her gaze back up to his face. “But you did make things easier.” Admitting things begrudgingly was not her specialty. “Thank you.” She wasn't above giving credit where credit was due, however. As she spoke, her hand would softly touch his arm, as if announcing it’s presence. She didn’t want to startle him now, and despite her behavior, she didn’t want to start a brawl. Her fingertips would trace down his shoulder, his forearm, his wrist, until she had wrapped her hand around his own, slowly drawing the knife away from her torso.


[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

"No need to get handsy, Zeltroni." Elly retorted, before shaking her off and taking the knife of her gut. For a moment she was forgotten and his scowl focused itself on the birds working the kitchens-- or attempting to look like they were doing that, while stealing sneaky glances at them and what they were doing in the door opening.

"Y'all better have my food ready, before I go and get my declaw tools and start plucking feathers."

One more glance was spend at [member="Joza Perl"], before he shook his head and turned around to walk back into the restaurant itself.

He'd have to find a gorram new restaurant now. One that wasn't filled with lubricious and bootylicious cheekas grinding themselves close to him in a bid for information.

What a time to be alive.

Well, better than getting his face caved in by an angry Mandalorian chick with family issues, he supposed. But that was also a matter of perspective at the end of the day.

 

[Joza Perl]

Joza scowled in obvious displeasure at his gruff words, catching his glance with a sharp look of her own as he cast her one last look. “Watch your mouth or the only thing in your stomach will be healthy dose of internal bleeding.” She didn’t feel the particular need to act on her threat—she wasn’t one to rock the boat that hard—but would confront him if he tried to act on his.

Nevermind the fact that she had been the one to grab him. He could spit all the fire he wanted at her, but not to her “employees”. Well, not the ones who were generally minding their business. Igor’s wasn’t a classy place by far, but it had standards.

Sometimes.

Still, he’d done her a favor on Atrisia. And now that the initial shock had worn off, relief had taken its place. Good, she didn’t have to deal with a prospective enemy. But now she was curious, given that she’d tried to thank the man on Atrisia after the battle had died down.

The birdlike aliens were not taking any risks, however. Elliot’s order was ready just a few minutes later, the same Devaronian from before being sent to his table now. He still wasn’t very polite, but he was far quieter and careful not to spill anything on him. He’d be left alone with his meal in peace for a little while.

“Jackass.” Joza mumbled, fiddling in the storage room to keep herself busy for the time being. Normally she wouldn’t waste her time on such an acerbic man, but she felt the urge to thank him properly for his help—and also apologize. Grabbing a bottle of Corellian whiskey from one of the lower shelves, she dusted the bottle off and grabbed a pair of stout glasses before heading out into the restaurant. She looked around for a moment before spying Elliot at his table before walking over and sliding right into the seat opposite of him, plunking down the bottle of whiskey between them followed by a much softer placement of the glasses.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” Any sexual pretense had dropped at this point. “I thought you were someone else. My mistake.” She gave him a half smile, still a little too irritated from earlier to be bubbly but made the effort to be polite and smooth things over the best she could manage. “Drink? It’s on the house.”

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

Hunger.

It was a darn thing at the best of times.

He was chomping into that food like a Krayt Dragon would a tasty big meaty Bantha. Feth, he'd kill for a gorram bantha burger right about now. But the ones in here... tasted like they were made of rubber and some other oily substances. Not something he was comfortable putting in his mouth, which was saying something, considering the crap he put in his mouth on a daily basis.

"S'allgood, Perl." Perl, Joza. Half Zeltron, half Corellian. 26 years old, as far as she knew. Zeltros... obviously. 5'8'' something and about sixty kilos on a bad day. "Read up on ya after Atrisia. Read like a gorram novel- a good one, tho- sounds like you have been through a metric fethton of shet."

Locke nodded in approval, before taking hold of the bottle.

Let it sit still in his hands for a moment. Feeling the goods, so to speak. Felt good. Felt right. The bottle was opened within five seconds and amber liquid was pouring out in no time.

One for her, one for him.

"I will apologize to your boys after we done. Was nothing personal- when I am hungry... I am hungry and an arsehole, don't help I spend the last month or so eating fists, you dig?"

Glass was raised, ticked and thrown overboard.

Good stuff, another nod in appreciation this time.

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

Thankfully he didn’t seem too perturbed by their clash earlier, but that relief was quickly tossed out the window as he addressed her by her last name. Okay, maybe he’d seen her somewhere before or they had a mutual friend or ally. He could have left it at that and she wouldn’t read entirely too much into it, but nope. He seemed too casual in mentioning the fact that he apparently knew her history, a fact that almost made her blush before her mind kicked into over drive.

How much did he know? Joza worked hard to maintain that the details of her more private affairs were kept hidden. The Zeltron had learned how to cover her tracks, which begged the question…who was he, and why was he so comfortable in dropping the fact that she’d been through a metric fethton of shet? No more than anyone else in her line of work. All signs of her rising panic were kept beneath the surface, a cordial smile on her face the entire time.

“Sure, sure. Water under the bridge, right?”

She took a sip of the drink, which quickly turned into an unladylike gulp as soon as the whiskey hit her tongue. Turns out she’d needed it more than she’d imagined, but as the drink went down it began to quell her nerves. Her tight smile loosened, taking on the telltale signs of a seedy smile as she spoke.

“I’m not going to lie, that makes me a little uncomfortable. You must like drama though, if you liked my novel.” She tisked softly, staring down in her glass before giving it an idle swirl. “You got a name? I don’t think you’d want me to continue calling you jackass.” Her eyes drew back up towards Elliot, curious and probing.

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

Locke snorted.

"Makes me feel kinship, lady. Feels good to know I am not the only one who gets karked hell and back in the line of duty and all that beauty." The glasses were refilled again, raised again and thrown over again. It burned, tickled at the back of his throat and made him feel more relaxed and warm.

Didn't mean a gorram thing, of course.

SIS didn't let them have any fun and made sure their agents weren't easy to influence with alcohol. They'd probably need to burn through two more bottles, before it would hit him well enough for that.

Wouldn't come to that, no matter how pretty the little lady was.

"Locke, Elliot Locke." This time a grin tugged, at the jackass remark, at the fact he was quoting a cheesy spy movie. "Life's filled with uncomfortable moments, I am afraid, best to move past it and get to the bottom of things."

His head cocked, as he turned the bottle around and 'round in his hand, waiting for another glass to be filled.

"Exactly why do I encounter the girl I rescued half a Galaxy over in my current favorite cheap restaurant?"

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

A brow raised. “Kinship at the expense of someone’s private history?” She almost snorted, and was quick to polish off the rest of her glass. A second liver and a youth of heavy drinking came in handy sometimes.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m not the type to let something petty go that easily.” One corner of her lips upturned in a toothy half-grin, but she wasn’t joking.

She nudged her empty glass forward, tapping the side with a ruby red nail to produce a soft clink. “I didn’t think that this would qualify as anyone’s favorite restaurant. But if you must know, I like terrible food.” Her brow furrowed at the word rescued. She would have been damn fine on her own if he hadn’t stepped in, at least that’s what her pride told herself.

“Am I allowed to ask how extensively you know me, or would you have to kill me, Mr. Locke?”

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

"Probably, but then I wouldn't be able to return here again." Glasses were filled up again. Not that he was gonna be coming back here again, after this conversation was over. If there was one thing Locke liked it was his privacy, this wasn't his idea of privacy by any stretch of the imagination.

Of course the irony wasn't lost to him.

But Elly had long ago learned to separate feelings from work. Had to know who he saved, so if there was ever the need to call in a marker, she'd be one holocall away from being pulled in.

"Cliff notes mostly, so unless you the girl who's scared about getting her real weight found out, you good."

Drink was slammed over again. Good damn drink indeed. Point was, if she was being cheeky and vague, he could be just as. If not more- it was his entire line of work, wasn't it? Be that mysterious suave gentleman at the corner of the bar, sipping his drink and eyeing up the pretty candy.

He wasn't particularly good at the gentleman part... or the suave part... or the mysterious part, but he could eye like the best of 'em and slamming over drinks wasn't too shabby either.

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

Her real weight? She couldn’t help the grin that stretched across her face at that remark.

“If that’s the case, then I’m terrified.”

She mimicked his motion this time, throwing the drink back and reveling slightly in the burn as it went down. Her glass was placed down with a slight gasp, and she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand quickly. “I do some part time work here.” Still vague, but not exactly a lie.

“What do you do when you’re not eating cheap takeout or being so gorram charming?” Her voice took on a distinctly teasing drawl.

It was a soft probe. As paranoid as she could become and as careful as she tried to be, Joza was an inquisitively social creature by nature. She liked people, she liked talking to people. She liked getting a handle on them, partially to sate her own anxieties.

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

He didn't push then.

In truth, Elly didn't want to know- 'cus there were two ways this could have gone. You had this pretty lady lass with a small-to-mid sized company on her name and a history from here to Coruscant. Master of the Force - always the gorram Force, why couldn't it leave them alone to their business? - and enough charisma to work the crowd without it.

She fought on Atrisia, meant she wasn't a baby-faced doll all the time.

Hidden depths meant secrets. Secrets meant that she wasn't just working in this trap-tent for the hell of it, which also started to explain why everyone was so gorram shaky and crappy around him.

"Mostly getting my teeth kicked in for being too... charming, let's call it that." Naw, he didn't care what happened here. Caring meant finding out meant making it his business. Elly liked not having this be his business.

"What do you do, besides fighting in wars, working the bar in a dingy sack of a tent and feeling up a guy's face, before the second date's run its course?"

Where was this coming from?

Felt too glib, too suave for his doing. The drink? Naw, not the drink, never the drink. Zeltron? He decided to lean back just a little tinsy touch, crossing one leg over the other and relaxing, while taking in the view. Then he slowed his breathing, a bit. Through the nose in and out.

While playing with the glass, wondering if he should take another round.

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

A crappy place like this on Nar Shaddaa was a good cover for her operation. But even more than that, it played on some infantile comfort of home. She’s grown up in the slums, neon lights and the constant chatter of the city were the rhythm of her life for the first fifteen years. Not the safest by far, but she took solace in a place like this. Uncomplicated. Predictable.

That wasn’t to say that her guard wasn’t always raised. It had to be—instinctively on this moon, at least. Her mother was a gentle, soft woman so she must have inherited any talent for smuggling she had from Zef. As much as she didn’t like it, she had to admit that her genetics seemed to tip in favor towards her father.

“I’m a performer. Dancer, specifically. I’ve got my own little studio.” A pause to take another drink, this time a daintier sip now that her initial thirst had been sated. “But you already knew that, right?” For a brief moment, she mused on how the hell she was supposed to work her allure if he knew so much about her? But that was the paranoia creeping in again. He could have been lying about the whole thing.

Not everything needs to be turned sexual, stupid Zeltron.

“Not thirsty?” Hand still curled around her own glass, she pointed to his empty mug with one finger. For a second, she wondered if she was bothering him and he was being polite in hopes that she’d be on her way. Joza was used to men treating her a certain way, acting interested in hopes of seeing and touching more later. Not that she didn’t oblige when she was properly interested, but deep down it was nice to talk to someone. Even if they were playing this game of vague tag.

“What were you doing on Atrisia, then?”

It was less accusatory and more lightly curious, tone suggesting that she wouldn’t mind if he declined to answer.

[member="Elliot Locke"]

 

[Kenth Typho]

"Hmm? Oh." Grin got enforced there, as he poured himself and presumably her another one. "Trying to get me drunk, huh? I see what's happening here, lady."

This one was taken in more slowly. Just feeling the buzz enter his system, the soft systematic churn burning into his tongue and throat, just enjoying the sensation for a little while. They didn't really make alcohol like this anymore, not after Corellia had broken in half- crap like this was expensive.

He wasn't sure why she had elected to drink it with him, but he wasn't gonna say no.

Would be paranoid about her real motivations, though. Especially 'cus she was here right when he was here. Elly wondered if the Silvers had their own secret intelligence arm.

Maybe a remnant of the old Silver Coalition days?

"Fighting the good fight, Perl." The rest was slammed over and the glass put upside down. "One naughty Chiss at a time. Didn't mind getting to know a pretty lady in the meantime."

"Can't all be teeth-kicking experiences, I suppose."

He was leaning on the table now, elbows heavier in, comfortable. Relaxed mostly. He still was keenly aware of the knife in his boot and the position of his stun gun, though. Part of the training- that kind of awareness doesn't just go away, it would never go away as far as he was concerned.

Elliot Locke, just for the night. Forget the gun.

"What about you then?"

--

[member="Joza Perl"]

 

[Joza Perl]

“You read right through my intensions. Clever gunslinger.” There was a slight but noticeable twitch of her lips into a smirk, and she didn’t even bother with the obvious teasing tone this time around. Still, she tilted her head in mock thanks as he topped off her drink.

Perl. No one really called her Perl, and it felt odd. She didn’t particularly like it, but it felt wrong to correct him and have him call her by her given name. For some reason, anyhow. Maybe pride was getting in the way again, that pesky old thing.

When he turned the question on her, she brought the glass to her lips for a slow drink and hummed softly in thought. Why had she been on Atrisia? Her willingness to fight Sith hadn’t dwindled, but had been overshadowed by other things. Her son, her companies. Things closer to home, closer to her heart. She’d be more apt to fight during an active Sith attack, so why has she joined the Alliance in trying to push them off of their planet?

Her eyes rolled upwards for a few moments, digging back into her memory banks. HK-36 had been there, his reasons for fighting unbeknownst to her. But he’d helped save her life when she’d gone into labor—during a karking raid on Voss with a dying civilian kid in her lap, no less—and she wasn’t about to let that sort of favor go unreturned. A Halo always pays his debts.

She almost shivered.

“I owed somebody a favor.” No need to go into the gory details where she’d inevitably end up spilling her heart out to this stranger. Joza was a fragile creature in certain areas, but she had just enough self-awareness to avoid them. “That, and I’m not really a fan of the guys the Alliance was fighting. The Sith. They’re a nasty bunch.” She shrugged. “You ever fight them before?”

She leaned an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hands as she took a moment to take in the man before her. Locke, Elliot. Probably late twenty-something. A bit scruffy, probably due for a shave soon. Maybe like 6 feet tall? Has a mean shot. Kind of a jackass. Lucky he’s cute.

[member="Elliot Locke"]