Old Faces New

[Connory Monroe]

Three weeks of tracking their movements, following shipments and catching the aftermath of of their assaults on civilian vessels, and Cory had found the freaking pirates in the one place she really wish she hadn’t.

She paced on the other side of the street from the cantina, wrestling with her breathing and her brain. Four times she’d already tried to go in, and each time something different turned her away. The smell of the alcohol, the noise, the number of people and that one guy who stared straight at her.

She took the helmet of and bent over, one hand on her knee sucking in deep breaths and cursing in as many languages as she could muster. She stood upright and looked at the front door again. Nope, it wasn’t going to happen...she’d have to wait them out.


Unless….unless what,? Something drew them out the front? But something could draw everyone out, and that would just make matters worse. Oh for the love of Manda, she needed to stop the spiral, to find another angle.

Another entrance.

Back door?

Back door worked.

She jammed the helmet back on her head and made her way down a couple of alleys and found a guarded back door. Just a single guard. She approached him with every ounce of false calm she could muster. “I need to get in there.”

“Use the front door.”

“This works better for me.”

“Tough shit, buckethead.”

WHAM!

The beskar baton clocked him hard around the head, dropping him like a stone, and suddenly the anxiety was gone. A swift boot to the door and she was in, and battle mode descended over her like a comfort blanket.

[member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Isran Varad]

The Mandalorian was used to this part of town.

When it came to finding work, there was no better place than seated at the bar of the local watering hole. Here, every occupant smelled just as poorly as they looked. They were scum. Some with spice yet clutching their nostrils. Others with more scars than a combat veteran. No matter where one looked, they wouldn't find any gilded Jedi or well groomed Sith. Not politicians. Nothing save for the absolute underbelly of society. And, to their credit, these particular sort of people knew how to get things done. Politicians loved to posture, for example. Burning months of time on nothing. But scum? They'd never waste your time.

All it took was the right motivations and they were at your disposal.

Such it was that, while a rather anxious Mandalorian made her assault out back, Isley Verd poked and prodded for his neck meal. Before him sat a bottle of tihaar and an accompanying glass. He had paid for the whole darn thing - plus extra for what he was looking for. Behind the bar stood the keep, an unassuming Rodian who looked out of place in the bar. But despite his...well, twitchy exterior, Isley had found the xeno to be a solid source of Intel. So, as the Rodian cleaned a glass, Isley listened to the details that he had to share. Apparently there were pirates floating through town, some even in the cantina, who had some fat bounties on their heads. But at first, Isley shook his head.

"House Rules my friend." he began. "I throw down in here, it's my last time coming. You know that." And who could put a price on good Intel? Surely that was worth more than whatever their bounties amounted to. But, little did the Mandalorian know his choices were about to get minimal.

[member="Connory Monroe"]

 

[Connory Monroe]

This was no longer a bar full of people, not in Cory's head. This was a pirate base in need of infiltrating. She paused in the doorway to the back, scanning the crowd to locate her targets. They were in the far corner, pretty girls on their laps and more than a few drinks down.


Good, their reactions would be sluggish. She stepped out as a group of people passed in front of her, giving her decent cover as she moved with them to get closer, slipping a slugthrower from a holster om her hip. Halfway across the room, they dispersed and left her with the perfect line of sight for the captain.


The smile on his face faltered for a moment as he clocked her. Cory didn't hesitate, her arm coming up and pulling the trigger with practiced efficiency that plastered the walls with the back of the bothans head.


The girls screams pierced the air, Cory executed two more, moving forward with each kill before they'd pulled themselves together enough to start firing back and she was forced to take cover, behind a table that had been knocked over by patrons attempting to flee.

[member="Isley Verd"]