A year. A full force fething year.
He had heard somewhere that ‘Time is measured in seconds; Life is measured in moments.’
Well, Ragos’ last year was measured in credits and that chit was expensive.
It’s impolite to talk about money and don’t nobody fcks with a pocket watcher so let’s just say that Ragos started out with a not flashy but not sorry amount a credits, but now? Chit, it just wasn’t enough, not even got damn close.
So when he got an invitation to go to Rothana with a chance to fall into something that could make him some ends he hadn’t needed to think long.
It wasn’t that long ago that Ragos was on the come up for real. Cars, clothes, jewelry, he had all that chit, he’d owned a shock boxing gym, the best damn club on Coruscant, a handful of body shops on various levels of the planet, two handfuls of warehouses, and he was the baddest damn spice dealer in the core, he he sure as chit woulda been if he hadn’t been betrayed. That was a different and longer story though.
Forced to leave all that he built behind Ragos had run form Coruscant to Epica to make a new empire with a new Family and then that chit had gone belly up too and he’d had to run again spending the last year living on the low off the few credits he had managed to keep in his pockets.
And that’s what brought him to this frozen hell hole Rothana. Credits. That’s it. It sure as chit didn’t have to do with
who had invited. Nah, never that.
Ragos shook off the hostess and crossed through the lounge to a table near the frosty windows where a lone woman sat sipping caf and staring out at the world.
A tension began in his chest and Ragos became hyper aware of his breathing. He was breathing normal, nothing weird. It was just now he was incredibly conscious of it.
Ragos had been in fist fights, gun fights, had to rob and steal just fund his spice deals, spent the last year in fear on the run from assassination, and chit he still couldn’t remember being more nervous than right now just as he was about to reconnect with
“Iliana,” Ragos said from over her shoulder
“you look incredible.”
And got damn did she ever.
There was every chance she wouldn't recognize him. He looked about as different from the last time they say each other as was possible but she, she was still her and he liked that.
The last time they was together, Ragos was healing from a near death attack. He was skinny, unkempt, forced into a hospital gown and loaded on spice.
Chit, today he might’ve been fifty pounds heavier, dark black skin on his face hidden behind a full but meticulously maintained beard, his hair was longer even than the last time he saw Iliana but now it was pulled into tight braided rows along his scalp.
He wasn’t wearing a hospital gown neither. He wasn’t dressed like a senator or nothing but he sure weren’t dressed cheap. Chit, there was probably only a handful of senators that could get their hands on the phillak fur coat and hat combo he was rocking.
He leaned over to lightly kiss her on the cheek.
Was that weird? Too formal? Too presumptuous?
He did a mental shrug, can’t take it back now.
“Can I sit?”
Iliana Röhr