Need A Pilot

[Darth Ferus]

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Nar Shadda had never been a good planet. Crime was rampant in all forms, often encouraged by the Hutts that ruled the world. Murder, theft, prostitution, smuggling. Yet, it was as good of a place as any to find a good pilot. If one could make it on Nar Shadda, they could make it anywhere, right? The Zabrak certainly hoped so.

Darth Ferox found himself in the familiar setting of a bar, sitting alone. In his hand, a whiskey. The Sith was normal around here, though none knew who he was. He was dressed in the run of the mill smuggler outfit, with his large pistol on his hip and his sword on the other. Most thought the blade was only the average vibroblade, but some knew there was something off about it.

Not that the Sith ever cared. They left him alone, and he left them alone. Heck, the only reason he was here now was because he finally made contact with a pilot. [member="Phoebus"] was her name, and he hoped she would be here soon.

 

[Phoebus]

[member="Darth Ferox"]

Phoebus had a distaste the lifeless and vile environment of Nar Shadda; corrupted to mercantile interests, all the nature and life on the planet was replaced by repulsive "civilizations" as they were called. Nar Shadda was more of a cesspool of shit than an actual organized place of inhabitance but she could care less for what others did as long as they did not infect and destroy the few places she called home. Hurriedly walking down the streets in a thick cloak, she was abruptly stopped by a large Klatooinian man who slurred, "Hey pretty thing, show me what's underneath that robe won't cha?"

Quickly chanting a short incantation for the Speed of Toocha and applying it to her hand, she quickly unsheath her Nightsister dagger and slashed the man's throat before stepping back to avoid the spurt of blood. Moving around the blood, Phoebus quickly made it to her destination. Spotting the unique Sith figure sitting at the bar, Phoebus walked forward and offered her hand.

"Hello. I'm the one you contacted about piloting."

 

[Darth Ferus]

Death had a funny effect on the Force. It caused a tremor, felt by those who could obviously feel the Force. So when just outside the bar another soul was forced to depart, the Zabrak instantly went on edge. Death was common on the planet, but so close wasn't as good. Casually he moved a hand down to the gun on his hip, simply waiting to see who or what just ended a life.

To his surprise, a woman entered, and walked right up to him. The most he could muster was a raised brow. His pilot? A smirk settled on his lips as he released the hand cannon. "Ah, it was only you. Did ya have to kill who ever it was outside? Just curious, I don't care either way."

[member="Phoebus"]