Private Point A to Point B

[Capris Halcyon]

LOCATION: Lower Levels, Coruscant
TAGS: Gatz Derrevar ​

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Dive bars were always a reliable fallback for employment. You could side step the procedural purgatory of more legitimate forms of business and ensure your paper-trail was all but untraceable by the end of it. Which, for someone operating on her time-frame, worked just perfectly.

There’d been whispers in the aftermath of Xa Fel, survivors of the Maw’s iron fist hinting towards a deeper network of slave rings. Fortunately for her she’d been able to snatch up a contact in the chaos. Unfortunately however, she had nothing to legitimize their claims. So here she was, grasping for proof.

Was it Alliance sanctioned business? No. Was she about to land herself in scalding hot water and subsequently find herself at the complete and utter mercy of the council? Undoubtedly. But she’d long acknowledged the risk. From her vantage point it was offset by lone necessity. She wanted this done sensibly. No fuss. No bureaucratic red tape smothering her ambitions. Just a simple one-man operation. Well two-man, but that was just a technicality. One that’d soon be cashed in.

Crossing the threshold into the bar’s gritty confines, the padawan tugged her cloak just a little closer. She’d done a fair bit of sleuthing prior, screening for pilots who could take her from point A to point B without so much as a quirked eyebrow. A rabbit hole that inevitably led her to one Gatz Derrevar. She’d divulged no identifying details when banking the offer. To him she was an amorphous face, without a name, without an age, without a gender. Hopefully It minimized the chance he’d refuse the job once her affiliation came to light. Afterall the underworld had their fair share of prejudices against Jedi. Not that she blamed them. Hell, not that she even disagreed.

It was with that in mind she sidled into a corner booth, inconspicuous enough among the throng of patrons, just biding time.

 

[Gatz Derrevar]

Gatz wasn't fond of Coruscant. It was an ecumenopolis like any other, but unlike most, Coruscant wasn't willing to accept what it really was: filthy. It was like a discount Nar Shaddaa, the lower levels filled with rampant danger and crime, but unlike Nar Shaddaa, the top levels tried to pretend that they were some utopian planet. The Galactic Alliance painted a pretty facade that made Coruscant look like a jewel of civilization amongst a galaxy filled with barbarism.

But the truth was that Coruscant was built upon foundations of rot, just like every other planet in the galaxy.

Gatz stepped into a seedy bar, red leather jacket adorning his torso, and his blaster strapped to his side. He usually didn't like to be this far coreward, but the prospect of an unusual job had brought him to the capital of the Galactic Alliance. His contact, whomever they actually were, had insisted that they meet here. Unfortunately, Gatz had no way to identify them. No way to contact them. So he'd have to wait for them to approach.

Fortunately, bars held entertainment aplenty, in the form of alcohol. So Gatz sauntered to the bar, and took a stool at the far end. Wordlessly, he placed a few credits in front of the Twilek bartender, who scooped them up. A few moments later, a glass of whisky slid its way down the bar to him, which Gatz cupped and took a swig from. It burned on the way down his throat, and the young smuggler let out a contented sigh.

Coruscant sucked, but at least the booze was good.

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Capris Halcyon