The city of Coruscant shimmered more beautifully than a jewel during the night. The lights on top of the glass skyscrapers blended seamlessly into the starry sky, creating an effect similar to a great twinkling mural. It usually made him think as if if the city was an artist, whose greatest piece of art was the unification between mankind’s creations and mother nature. It was a wonderful and soul clenching sight to behold, and Zakan wished he were up there to see it.
Instead, he stood quietly in a dark alley in Coruscant’s underworld. Level 1313 if he was to be precise. The alley was cold, damp, dirty, and featured a sharp wind that repeatedly whipped at the edges of his cloak, snapping the brown fabric to and fro. Every time it did so, Zakan had to reach down and settle the robe, careful to keep the one item on his person hidden from prying eyes. His status as a Jedi was not important here, he was not on any official business and he wished for no trouble. But many often jumped to those conclusions.
Zakan patted down the outside of his pocketed, feeling around his light saber until he found what he was looking for. He reached deep into his pocket, retrieving a small item. Zakan withdrew the small communicator and twirled it through his fingers for a minute, trying to settle the anxiety that pooled in his stomach at the message it contained.
We need to talk. Come alone.
0.01.03
There was no listed sender, but Zakan knew of their identity regardless. Not just anybody could message his personal comm, nor would just anybody need to. No, this was a message from an old friend. One whose very existence could ruin Zakan’s steadfast reputation as a loyal Jedi to the council. The more he thought about it, the more his unease grew. Though to his credit, not an inch of his showed on his face, nor did he allow any emotion to leak out into the force, he was far too well trained for that.
He was a model Jedi, collected and calm in all situations. Even though he was nearly dying to know the reasoning behind this one. The situation must be horrible if he had reached out to Zakan first. Because if Zakan knew Pylon Zerga, he knew that the man was more than capable of handling whatever the galaxy had decided to throw at him. Hell, even death hadn’t stopped him, or even slowed him down if the rumors Zakan had heard about a particular bounty hunter held any truth.
No. Thought Zakan seriously. If he’s reaching out, then it must be a personal matter. Something to do with the order. Zakan inwardly grimaced. He can’t possibly suspect that I’ve given him up… can he?
Zakan hoped not. He hadn’t given Pylon up, hadn’t even said a word about the message he had received years ago. Against what had seemed like every natural instinct in his body, Zakan had lied to the council on his report. He told them that Pylon had died on Mandalore and that he would be gravely missed. Zakan had surprised himself that day. Who knew he had it in him. After years of blindly following the council’s order, never failing, Zakan had chosen the bond he formed with the former shadow over his loyalty to the order. But then again, he had always been a secret sentimental fool. They had shared many missions hunting Sith together, and Zakan supposed he just wasn’t able to bring himself to betray the trust that had formed over those years. He was too goddamn emotional for his own good.
But that was enough time spent remiscating. That incident had been Zakan’s one slip up. He was still loyal to the order, and always would be. Securing his cowl firmly on top of his montrals, Zakan stepped out from behind the cover of the alley and walked toward the dingy looking bar across the street. A decrepit neon sign flashed above the open doorway where a couple of seedy looking fellows lurked. The pale yellow light from inside the club gleamed of their grotesque faces and tusks, making them look someone even more vicious, and ugly. As he got closer, Zakan noted that one of the porky figures had a viscous gouge down the left side of their face, it looked as if someone had dug out the poor monster's eyeball with a spoon.
The other figure looked physically whole, but Zakan could smell a particular protruding odor, even from here. Zakan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed like all he did these days was pass from one poodoohole to another, something or someone always smelled bad too. There was a distinct lack of hygiene in all these places. Zakan swore that if the council had not ordered him to hunt down every Sith in the galaxy, he wouldn't be caught dead in another one of these bars. He was basically a prestigious bounty hunter these days. That thought was deeply disturbing.
Zakan approached the door and the two, bouncers he guessed, quickly moved to intercept him. “Let me see some I.D. We can’t just be letting anyone in here.” The first one managed to snort out from behind it’s rancid yellow tusks. Zakan was very proud that he didn’t gag when the creatures breath crossed his face. The second one, One-Eye, quickly grunted in agreement, brandishing what looked to be a creative interpretation of a nightstick. When Zakan remained silent, Yellow tusks was quick to continue. “Or, if you don’t have any I.D and want to get in, we could be persuaded in other ways…” Yellow tusks made an obvious money gesture with its hands and snorted, failing to hide its obvious glee. One-Eye also joined in, snorting and smacking it’s meaty hands together greedily.
Zakan slowly reached his arm out, careful to keep a non threatening posture less these thugs misinterpret and do something really stupid. They watched carefully, eyes flicking between the lower part of his face that wasn’t obscured by his hood, and his outstretched hand. “You don’t need to see my I.D” Zakan said with a simple wave of his hand. “Let me pass.”
They offered no resistance. The pigs blinked at him before their faces morphed into an expression of dazed understanding. “Right, we don't need to see any I.D.” Yellow tusks said. “Go right on in”. They lumbered back to either side of the door and stood silently. Such weak willed minds.
Zakan slipped passed them without another word. He quickly glanced around the small, dimly lit bar, pleased to note that there were no curious glances thrown his way as he entered. The small number of patrons seemed to be too preoccupied with staring into their drinks to acknowledge any newcomer. Even the Quarren bartender barely spared him a look. Just the way he liked it. Zakan swiftly moved through the room and took a seat in a secluded booth in the back corner. He neatly arranged his cloak around him until his face was almost entirely masked in shadows, and patiently folded his hands.
This was where Pylon had sent him. Zakan had naturally assumed the man would already be here, he remembered the man as overly cautious and sneaky, but Zakan couldn’t find his face in the pint-sized crowd. Even odder was that he couldn’t feel Pylon’s force signature. Zakan was a force tracking expert, the best the order had, hence all of his Sith hunting missions. He should be able to find the other man easily. Pylon’s signature was familiar to him, but he couldn’t sense more than a ripple in the force. He was nearby, but nearly impossible to pin down. Was Pylon repressing his energy, or had he truly fallen? This night was bringing up many troublesome thoughts.
Zakan quieted his mind before he jumped to more dangerous assumptions.The force would show him the way. Soon this meeting would be over with, he just had to be patient.
[member="Pylon Zerga"]
Instead, he stood quietly in a dark alley in Coruscant’s underworld. Level 1313 if he was to be precise. The alley was cold, damp, dirty, and featured a sharp wind that repeatedly whipped at the edges of his cloak, snapping the brown fabric to and fro. Every time it did so, Zakan had to reach down and settle the robe, careful to keep the one item on his person hidden from prying eyes. His status as a Jedi was not important here, he was not on any official business and he wished for no trouble. But many often jumped to those conclusions.
Zakan patted down the outside of his pocketed, feeling around his light saber until he found what he was looking for. He reached deep into his pocket, retrieving a small item. Zakan withdrew the small communicator and twirled it through his fingers for a minute, trying to settle the anxiety that pooled in his stomach at the message it contained.
We need to talk. Come alone.
0.01.03
There was no listed sender, but Zakan knew of their identity regardless. Not just anybody could message his personal comm, nor would just anybody need to. No, this was a message from an old friend. One whose very existence could ruin Zakan’s steadfast reputation as a loyal Jedi to the council. The more he thought about it, the more his unease grew. Though to his credit, not an inch of his showed on his face, nor did he allow any emotion to leak out into the force, he was far too well trained for that.
He was a model Jedi, collected and calm in all situations. Even though he was nearly dying to know the reasoning behind this one. The situation must be horrible if he had reached out to Zakan first. Because if Zakan knew Pylon Zerga, he knew that the man was more than capable of handling whatever the galaxy had decided to throw at him. Hell, even death hadn’t stopped him, or even slowed him down if the rumors Zakan had heard about a particular bounty hunter held any truth.
No. Thought Zakan seriously. If he’s reaching out, then it must be a personal matter. Something to do with the order. Zakan inwardly grimaced. He can’t possibly suspect that I’ve given him up… can he?
Zakan hoped not. He hadn’t given Pylon up, hadn’t even said a word about the message he had received years ago. Against what had seemed like every natural instinct in his body, Zakan had lied to the council on his report. He told them that Pylon had died on Mandalore and that he would be gravely missed. Zakan had surprised himself that day. Who knew he had it in him. After years of blindly following the council’s order, never failing, Zakan had chosen the bond he formed with the former shadow over his loyalty to the order. But then again, he had always been a secret sentimental fool. They had shared many missions hunting Sith together, and Zakan supposed he just wasn’t able to bring himself to betray the trust that had formed over those years. He was too goddamn emotional for his own good.
But that was enough time spent remiscating. That incident had been Zakan’s one slip up. He was still loyal to the order, and always would be. Securing his cowl firmly on top of his montrals, Zakan stepped out from behind the cover of the alley and walked toward the dingy looking bar across the street. A decrepit neon sign flashed above the open doorway where a couple of seedy looking fellows lurked. The pale yellow light from inside the club gleamed of their grotesque faces and tusks, making them look someone even more vicious, and ugly. As he got closer, Zakan noted that one of the porky figures had a viscous gouge down the left side of their face, it looked as if someone had dug out the poor monster's eyeball with a spoon.
The other figure looked physically whole, but Zakan could smell a particular protruding odor, even from here. Zakan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed like all he did these days was pass from one poodoohole to another, something or someone always smelled bad too. There was a distinct lack of hygiene in all these places. Zakan swore that if the council had not ordered him to hunt down every Sith in the galaxy, he wouldn't be caught dead in another one of these bars. He was basically a prestigious bounty hunter these days. That thought was deeply disturbing.
Zakan approached the door and the two, bouncers he guessed, quickly moved to intercept him. “Let me see some I.D. We can’t just be letting anyone in here.” The first one managed to snort out from behind it’s rancid yellow tusks. Zakan was very proud that he didn’t gag when the creatures breath crossed his face. The second one, One-Eye, quickly grunted in agreement, brandishing what looked to be a creative interpretation of a nightstick. When Zakan remained silent, Yellow tusks was quick to continue. “Or, if you don’t have any I.D and want to get in, we could be persuaded in other ways…” Yellow tusks made an obvious money gesture with its hands and snorted, failing to hide its obvious glee. One-Eye also joined in, snorting and smacking it’s meaty hands together greedily.
Zakan slowly reached his arm out, careful to keep a non threatening posture less these thugs misinterpret and do something really stupid. They watched carefully, eyes flicking between the lower part of his face that wasn’t obscured by his hood, and his outstretched hand. “You don’t need to see my I.D” Zakan said with a simple wave of his hand. “Let me pass.”
They offered no resistance. The pigs blinked at him before their faces morphed into an expression of dazed understanding. “Right, we don't need to see any I.D.” Yellow tusks said. “Go right on in”. They lumbered back to either side of the door and stood silently. Such weak willed minds.
Zakan slipped passed them without another word. He quickly glanced around the small, dimly lit bar, pleased to note that there were no curious glances thrown his way as he entered. The small number of patrons seemed to be too preoccupied with staring into their drinks to acknowledge any newcomer. Even the Quarren bartender barely spared him a look. Just the way he liked it. Zakan swiftly moved through the room and took a seat in a secluded booth in the back corner. He neatly arranged his cloak around him until his face was almost entirely masked in shadows, and patiently folded his hands.
This was where Pylon had sent him. Zakan had naturally assumed the man would already be here, he remembered the man as overly cautious and sneaky, but Zakan couldn’t find his face in the pint-sized crowd. Even odder was that he couldn’t feel Pylon’s force signature. Zakan was a force tracking expert, the best the order had, hence all of his Sith hunting missions. He should be able to find the other man easily. Pylon’s signature was familiar to him, but he couldn’t sense more than a ripple in the force. He was nearby, but nearly impossible to pin down. Was Pylon repressing his energy, or had he truly fallen? This night was bringing up many troublesome thoughts.
Zakan quieted his mind before he jumped to more dangerous assumptions.The force would show him the way. Soon this meeting would be over with, he just had to be patient.
[member="Pylon Zerga"]
