Auction Silver Jedi Slave Auction [finished]

[Tanomas Graf]

[member="Miss Blonde"]

The old man stood up from his computer console and strode to the window that looked over the space around Endor. The vessels that he had promised jumped to hyperspace right before his eyes, loaded with crates full of weapons and heading for Enigma Prime. At that moment IDSS accountants were also in the midst of transferring a sum of ten million credits through a secure line.

Graf grimaced, the price he would put on the life of someone was unlimited, but he failed to acquire the other half of the pair.

He huffed and sauntered over to the console again, where a message to the Silver Jedi Order was already being drafted.

A bounty needed to be set.

 

[Azimuth Industries]

The line went dead.

He hurled the hologram projector at the wall and it shattered.

"Dopa maskey beeogola neechaska," he roared, "A billion credits on her head, dead or alive!"

A massive apelike droid hunched in the corner on its knuckles replied to him in Trandoshan.

Narbo snorted, "Schutta. I have more than a thousand."

Another monotone line in Trandoshan.

"I could sell you, wermo, that would net me at least fifty."

The twi'lek brushed his hand off and stood. "Your hour's up, sweets patogga."

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" He grabbed her by the wrist.

"Hands off the merchandise, skoocha kung."

Four eyes stared at the holdout pistol leveled at his face. "Fine," he whuffled at last, crossing his arms.

He'd get that blasted woman in black for this insult. Nobody turned down an offer from Narbo. Nobody.

 

[Darth Osano]

Greg paused in his hacking to look at the feed, seeing the peculiar fellow in the plastic mask shambling on screen with a razor. "What's happening?" The Enforcers in the room said nothing, because to be perfectly honest on their behalf they only had a tenuous understanding of what was going on right now as well. Pollux also refrained from answering Greg's question, because he had the philosophy that if he had to explain everything to every two-bit imbecile that lived in their own filth, he'd never stop talking. Greg's confusion turned to horror as one of the masked prisoners was brutally maimed and the other was dragged off screen to, as far as Greg knew, an ambiguous fate.

"What's happening?"

Not at all what Pollux wanted, but close enough. The bids stopped being posted and suddenly the second lot was being shown out as well. The Givin wagered he had had inadvertently sparked some under the table dealing, but of course there was no way to know for sure. Not unless he wanted to spend another eight posts poking the holonet footprints of the phantom website. So it goes. Not every scheme was bound to be an overtly fruitful one. Time to keep it moving. Pollux stood up, nodded to the Enforcers, and the trio exited the apartment without further conversation. Greg was still stuttering questions when the door shut behind them.