Private O Brother, Oba Diah!

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

Oba Diah. Kessel system. Outer Rim. Ultimately, just another planet, just another pinprick in the system. Homeworld of the Pyke species, and if there were any guys who needed less stereotypes then it was the Pykes. It wasn’t the Hutts. The Hutts were scum from birth.
The Pykes, on the other hand, well in the experience of most of the galaxy they could actually be just as very scummy, what with ‘Pyke Syndicate’ being synonymous with ‘Pyke’ in any system you’re in at any given moment.

Then again, Oba Diah was not the homeplanet of the Pyke Syndicate so much as the Pykes and there was a difference. Crime. Business. Corporate. Politicians. Whatever the Pyke’s occupation, a Pyke was a Pyke, just another gal or guy or whatever the case taking days and nights one day and night at a time. They may or may not be affiliated with the syndicate of their namesake as much as not everyone on Oba Diah might be a Pyke.

There were bankers. There were bartenders. There were bakers. There were bounty hunters. Sitting on the other side of the bar counter, under a sign hanging from the ceiling reading ‘Mayhem Monday’, this one bounty hunter might seem like the type to be affiliated with criminals, however someone of his occupation wasn’t necessarily except in the sense of bringing in said criminals dead or alive.

Then again, this guy did get most of his work from those crime types, and the Duros had his own stereotypes just like those Pykes. Jon Dromon was his name, sitting on a stool in a gray coat, no hood or hat to cover that bald blue head, and no glasses to hide those orange eyes.

Sure, some local law enforcement agency could maybe pay Jon for a job to get done and he’d do it, only criminals tended to pay him a prettier credit chit and hopefully today would be no different for this shady shindig that begins in this city's establishment named 'Obsidian Kiss' which is pretty basic for a cantina on Oba Diah.

“Rum,” Jon said simply, cigar smoke escaping from between his teeth.

Bartender heard no brand, heard no figure, took the hint to get this blue-skinned guy anything with rum in it and went to take care of business.

Casually waiting for his drink, Jon Dromon was actually waiting for another person, his partner, so both men could get this job underway and the bounty hunter could get paid. Bounty? Delivery? That remained to be seen as his kept his gaze on the viewscreen and whatever it was playing.

Zax Danner

 

[Zax Danner]

Zax wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of bringing an outsider in to do work he could handle alone, but no matter how hard he pressed, Bylo wouldn’t hear it. The words of the Pyke ringleader rang in his skull, “I don’t pay you for your opinions, I pay you for results, get over it, and get it done.”

The ODC sprawl laid bare before him as he stalked down the street, a cigarra was already pressed between his lips, as the neon aurora borealis of lights and speeders enveloped him. He spotted the meeting place at the corner, what’a real showstopper, he thought sarcastically. He took a final drag on his cigarra, stamped it under his heel, checked his blaster and it’s power pack then, satisfied, made his way toward the front door.

Zax blew through the front door like he’d been coming to this shab hole for years, he spotted the barkeep, who was the Bylo gang's contact, the guy gave a subtle nod toward a Duro, and Zax sighed, great the hunter was a non-human. Given the disparity between true born pykes and they’re non-pyke counterparts, Zax couldn’t help but have a bit of a chip on his shoulder, but he swallowed his irritation and headed that way.

He came up behind the guy as he ordered his rum, Zax chimed in, “I’ll take a house whiskey and you can throw his rum on my tab, Charlie.” Then Zax frowned, “Sorry, don’t get many duro around these parts you are a guy right?”

It was up to the Duro how he wanted to take what happened, Zax was being honest, if not a little cheeky with his comment.

“Appreciate you coming out this way,” Zax grouped for a name, he knew it of course, but pretending to not know tended to leave a little wiggle room, “Sorry, what was your name?”

Tag: Die Shize
​

 

[Jon Dromon]

Charlie. Tab. Duros looked up at the guy on his right. Certainly an odd gesture for a stranger to buy this drifter’s tab unless he meant business. As for the name of the bartender, Jon had pinned him for a Charles. Maybe there wasn’t much of a difference.
Whiskey. Rum. The Duros looked up from the patron to the viewscreen playing a commercial about Ithorian skin cream. “I’m a guy if you’re a guy, my guy.” It was up to the man how he wanted to take that. Jon found the question just amusing enough to warrant an answer as he watched another advert.

Appreciation exchanged if not yet names, the bounty hunter didn’t turn as he sipped his rum and blew smoke. The cinnamon and honey made the coffee and leather pop as he spoke.
“Some call me the Drifter,” the Duros offered. “You can call me Candy or Cad Bane if you like.” He offered a shrug. “Or Jon Dromon.” Advert played the best home defense against bugs and to make rodents and pests go long gone. Maybe that would be the end of their target in this job but, dead or alive, a hunter got paid one way or the other.

Zax Danner

 

[Zax Danner]

The Duro’s response was weird, but he didn’t care. The humanoid could choose to be whatever they wanted,it made zero difference to Zax.

The Duro’s answer to his question eared the crimson eye’d being an indignant cock of Zax’s eyebrow, “I’ll call you Drift, if this job works out, maybe I’ll call you Candy,” he scoffed, taking a pull off his cigarra. Charlie dropped off the drinks, “Cheers,” said Zax before throwing back the drink. “You can call me Z.”

The thug turned his attention to Charlie for a moment, “You got the info, Char?”
The barkeep nodded, reached under the table, produced a fob and slid it to Zax. In return, the scoundrel slid a pack of credits in Charlie’s direction. “There’s a little extra in there, Bylo sends his regards.”

Charlie bobbed his head and muttered some shab about respect, before shuffling away. Zax nodded toward a booth in the back of the cantina, “Let’s step into my office,” he joked standing from the bar and swaggering his way to the booth.

Once there he’d turn on the fob, the iridescent glow illuminating the space in a pale blue light. The visage of a menacing pyke appeared between them, “This is Dom Pyke, he’s a newly appointed Ringleader here in town and unfortunately for him, Bylo’s decided there’s not enough room in ODC for another outfit, so we’re gonna shut him down before he can set up a foothold.”

Zax ashed his cigarra, and looked from the flickering image to Drift, “You ready to go or do you need to get ready? I’d like this done yesterday if you catch my meaning.”

Tag: Die Shize ​

 

[Jon Dromon]

Jon decided against trying to figure out the connection between ‘Drift’ potentially leading to a promotion to ‘Candy’ down the road. It was weird but he didn’t care and didn’t really get off on people calling him ‘The Drifter’ either all flair aside.

“I’ll call you Z,” Drifter offered before knocking back his own drink in league with his present partner. Theirs would likely be a temporary alliance and that seemed to be the best thing for all parties under the circumstances. The Pykes were this Duros’ current employer but they weren’t his master.

In the booth-office, whose joke was met with rigid lips and swagger returned with straight gait on the way, Jon sat without a drink but with his cigar still between his teeth. “I really don’t but let’s go.” Yesterday was yesterday and today was a new day as they got on their way.

“Fan of antiques?” He asked his partner with tempered interest outside their target’s business. Evidently Dom Pyke was a collector but under this establishments surface was sure to be shadier business. Amid a planet of Pykes whose syndicate was homegrown not every criminal operation was so public or naked.

Whatever Z’s answer to the question, Jon nodded toward the entrance from their distance. “Owner’s office at the top, illicit operations at the bottom. Options?” A pair of guards flanked the entrance. They could waltz in, split up, even stake out the joint until their target might come out, but they both knew they had no time to waste on this job.

Zax Danner