Public Swampy Cities and Swampy Spoils

[Mercy]

A T Z E R R I
​

Atzerri was Nar Shaddaa's less popular and downright disrespected cousin. A world that had little to no governance, just enough to not allow it to spin into anarchy, and nothing was illegal... until it became inconvenient. It was a planet that was nominally under the Alliance's perview, but their federalized structure meant that as long as things kept out of sight, they wouldn't want to trample on local customs.

Sometimes you simply had to respect local culture even if it involved the risk of having your skull caved in over a minor disagreement.

None of this mattered to Mercy and Jogon . Two enterprising Sith that always could use a little bit more in the way of currency. It was irrelevant how they met, maybe it was the local 'Find a fellow Villain' message board or Villainous Anonymous. In the end they decided to run a job together. Atzerri City, one of the swamp towns that managed to beat all the others out to be called the capital of this swampy planet, held a number of crime syndicates. Those criminals ran half-yearly gambling games all across town. The pool of winnings grew and grew, until eventually the last remaining contestants came together in a secret place to battle it out over a small fortune.

No weapons allowed, no goons admitted, just half a dozen crime lords and their closest lieutenants.

And an automated defense system that was supposed to keep the criminals safe and in line. The enigmatic owner of establishment they were playing at was disinterested in having to clean up if one of them turned out to be a sore loser.

Sadly the location was leaked to no one other than Mercy. She'd have to give up about thirty percent of the take, but that was fine with her. Money was money was mayhem.

"Back entrance looks peaceful enough." She muttered to Joon as she looked over the nondescript durasteel door. It was sealed. "We probably shouldn't go loud immediately..." But everything in her voice suggested she'd love to go loud right away.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy

You learn something new every day. Today, for instance, Jogon learned that the upper crust of criminal society were engaging in high-stakes, cash-only gambling in a location that was not nearly as secure as they believed it to be. There were many uses for such knowledge. It seemed today they would be put towards theft, courtesy of Mercy the Half-Firrerreo.​

​

"If you wanted quiet," he said, rudely brushing by her and heading straight for the door, "You should have brought someone else."​

​

Jogon paused at the door for a moment as if inspecting the design. There were some Sith who could accomplish much by stealth and subterfuge and sorcery. Jogon had not been blessed with such predispositions. His stature called for (and rather complimented) a more direct path.​

​

He kicked the door in, and the durasteel panel was ripped neatly from its dock - crushing a goon who had been standing on the opposite side against the opposing wall. Not a good way to die, but these things happen. There were some startled shouts from other elements of the so-called security detail nearby.​

​

They had, perhaps, a few more moments before the alarms kicked on.​

 

[Mercy]

Mercy blinked as Jogon wandered over to the door and kicked it in.

Once upon a time she had been just as brash as this creature. It was amusing to consider she was now on the opposite side of the divide. Well, only a little, because frankly Mercy enjoyed the cut of this Sith's jib. "That's a-" Mercy glanced him up and down. "-reptile after my own heart." To illustrate the point her right arm (tattooed with moving eldritch sigils) suddenly snapped to the side. It rammed itself straight through the durasteel briefly and left a hole in it.

Through the hole was the sight of a guard missing half his face.

"Well, I believe we stirred the hornet's nest alright. Let's meet with our crime lords, shall we?" She strode through the corridor and assumed that Jogon would follow the trail of blood dripping down her fingers. Mercy didn't seem to quite notice it however.

The alarms started to ring now.

Up ahead she could just about hear the drum of security guard boots echoing towards them. "Have you ever been thrown into a gaggle of guards before?" Mercy asked curiously over her shoulder for no apparent reason.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy

​

Mercy entered right after him, and then punched a whole through the wall. He didn't peek through, but he sensed the death spasms of some poor sap that had been on the other side. Jogon furrowed his brow. The tattoos on her arm were moving, crawling like insects, seeping with power. Something well beyond his ken. This was as good a sign as any to let her take point.​

​

She was probably some kind of witch, and witches never got surprised. Or at least that was how the Nightsisters told it. On cue, the alarms started blaring. Jogon unhooked his lightsaber from his belt.​

​

Again, he furrowed his brow, this time in response to Mercy's question. "Have I fought several men at once? Yes." ​

​

It did not occur to Jogon that her question could be literal.​

​

Five plainclothes goons rounded the corner ahead, shouting at one another and scrambling into something that approximated firing positions. Jogon suspected it would be only a moment before they started shooting.​

 

[Mercy]

Jogon

Mercy was a rather direct person.

If a problem presented itself the best approach was to go through it. Negotiation didn't even have a reference in her dictionary and neither did a lateral approach. Once Jogon gave the OK (or what passed as an OK in Mercy's book), she nodded shortly and turned around. Her bright manic eyes meeting Jogon's briefly.

"Godspeed."

Before the Dashade could ask why she was wishing him good luck she already made to grab for him. Unless he acted very quickly he'd find himself being launched right into goons that were still arranging themselves into a firing position.

That was the beauty of Mercy's response (as far as she was concerned).

Nobody expected an annoyed huge lizard to be thrown at you at the speed of... well, it was speedy enough anyway. Mercy wasn't lazy however or cowardly. She would not accept Jogon having all the fun. So she'd immediately follow after the launched lizard to jump into the frey and start using her fists to smash the unsuspected security guards.

Unless Jogon actually refused to be launched into the fight, because then the previous few paragraphs were moot.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy

Jogon raised an eyebrow, and suddenly Mercy seized him by the shirt collar. "What?"​

​

And then he was gone from the space he previously stood in, flung not unlike a gravball at the waiting pack of guards. According to all known laws of aviation, dashade should and could not fly for any particular amount of time. And yet here he was. Jogon's instincts activated along with his lightsaber.​

​

He spiraled through the air, again, not unlike a gravball, but one that had been thrown with expert precision. The end result was something akin to a launched food processor, which sliced, maimed, and killed the entrenched goons as it passed them by.​

​

Jogon skidded face first along the floor after landing. Behind him, two guards had been clipped in vital areas and died instantly. The rest were in various states of being crippled or dismembered, clutching wounds or stumps, groaning or howling as their disposition guided them.​

​

The dashade rose slowly, one hand pressed to his forehead. Uninjured. Just a force of habit.​

 

[Mercy]

Jogon

True to form everything went exactly how Mercy foresaw.

As she surveyed the mess that Jogon had made she sighed in happiness. If only more jobs could be so perfect. As she followed in his wake she merely served as an executioner. In this Mercy was an equal opportunity dealer, crushing windpipes and ribcages in equal measure, until their portion of the hallway was blissfully silent.

Except for the alarm still ringing annoyingly.

"That was fun. I have never thrown anyone into the fray before." Mercy said excitedly as she joined the Dashade Sith. She stepped past him towards the door from which the gooners had come from.

That ended up being a mistake.

From out of the walls recessed auto-turrets appeared to target the biggest and closest target available to them. "Uh-oh." She had just enough time to raise her arms in front of her and remember the breathing techniques that Ashin had beaten into her. After that the blaster bolts started firing away at her at their leisure.

The force of which caused Mercy to slide back a fraction.

"You think you can do something about this?" She'd prefer not to catch the next bolt with her face. The shimmer of Force Weapon covered her hide and kept her from being riddled with holes, but she couldn't keep that up forever and she didn't want to ruin her face either.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy

Mercy came sauntering over, pausing to occasionally execute one of the dead rubes. Jogon answered her with a sour, "Hnnmph." His brief flight had apparently ruined his appetite for banter. He stood there, stoic outwardly but radiating palpable waves of disgruntlement into the Force.​

​

When the auto-turrets came down and started blasting at her, Jogon still stood around. He rubbed his chin contemplatively, taking his time. Could he do something about this? Blaster bolts ricocheted this way and that off her Force play, scouring the walls and occasionally thudding into a dead body. Could he throw her at the turrets? ​

​

No, too obvious.​

​

Eventually he made a crushing gesture with one hand. One of the auto turrets stopped firing as it abruptly crumpled in on itself. Jogon yanked at the air, and the turret tore itself free, then crashed into its still-firing counterpart with such force that it caused a small explosion. Turrets gone. Problem solved.​

​

"There," Jogon announced.​

​

After another moment, he had kicked that door down as well. The duo were now graduated from the side entrance into the main throughfare of the building. Despite the security measures still being active, it looked to be an abandoned office. Dusty planters and rusty benches. And doors. So many doors. Doors which Jogon suspected led to cubicle hives, boardrooms, break rooms...​

​

It was enough to make any man shudder. But the kingpins were having their sabaac game here someplace. "Which way?"​

 

[Mercy]

Jogon

Mercy was at once easier and harder to piss off than the average Dashade.

The sweet time Jogon was taking to haul her arse out of the fire didn't do much to dampen her joy. Little could at this point. They were smashing doors, ripping throats out and crushing turrets. Blaster bolts were flying around the place. At the end of the road there was a fat pot of cash to boot. This was everything Mercy lived for.

"Thanks, buddy." Slapping Jogon on the shoulder with what was supposed to be a friendly gesture. Sadly it was with her eldritch arm that was infused with... wrongness. It could make even a sociopath shudder with just brief contact.

"Down. There should be an elevator at the end of the hallway." Mercy informed her current partner in crime as she looked around.

Doors, more doors, a lot of doors. But a surprising lack of any further defenses. Mercy had been expecting a small army to wait for them here. Except as they walked towards the elevator... there was a certain stillness that would have concerned Mercy. If she had been smart enough to have respect for her enemy's prowess.

"I really do hope they have more in store for us." Mercy muttered as she stared at the reinforced bulk doors that separated them from the elevator. The console seemed to lack any power.

"Try and force our way in?" Asked lightly over her shoulder with her hands in her hips.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy

Jogon sized up the bulkhead. Durasteel mostly. Civilian grade. He didn't know why he bothered to size it up. The cybernetics in his eyes scanned it for him. Automatic data relay. And of course it was civilian grade, this was a civilian structure. Mostly. And most of the military grade stuff was doable for him anyway, so... Whatever. Force of habit, he surmised.​

​

Jogon slid his lightsaber into his belt. "Safer to take the stairs," he said. But even still, he forced his fingers between the gap and began to pull the doors apart. Steel groaned. The doors would likely be magnetized when powered, but these were dead. The kingpins were probably only routing power to essential systems... But maybe that would change very soon.​

​

Eventually the durasteel crumpled and gave way, shoved back into the walls and now too mangled to ever shut properly again. Let them try magnetizing that. The elevator shaft was only barren scaffolding. No cable, though. Everything was repulsorlifts even this far from the Core. Cables were for Hutt Space.​

​

"After you."​

 

[Isar]

Thuds and the groan of metal announced the arrival of two uninvited guests.

A Zeltron leaned against the wall, arms crossed. He wore the sort of durable, lightweight body armor preferred by Rim mercenaries and pirates alike.

Pale heliotropic eyes looked the two mismatched intruders up and down. A Dashade who looked like, well, a Dashade, and a woman who gave Isar every impression she ate durasteel for breakfast.

“You know,” Isar said, his tone light as a breeze, “You could have just knocked.”

He glanced behind them at the turbo shaft as alarms continued to blare.

The subtle scent of lavender pervaded the corridor. Calming. Pleasant. Even amidst the shriek of the defense grid. Maybe the two figures should stay here a moment and talk. After all, the Zeltron was very handsome wasn’t he. All that chiseled pink skin taught against a sculpted jawline. Yes, they should stay a moment. It seemed like an idea. Maybe even a good one.

“You’re both sensitives, strong too. I could sense you coming. You could probably snap me in half with one hand, right? What are two powerful dar’jeti like yourselves doing all the way out here?”

 

[Mercy]

Isar Jogon

She didn't have to be asked twice.

What Mercy did next may not have been what Jogon imagined though. "Sure thing, buddy." She said with a wide, crazy grin as she looked down... and then without any hesitation stepped over the ledge. Gravity did the rest as the air yanked at her clothes and hair, the bottom of the turboshaft beckoning seductively.

Positively screaming be squished as a pancake, come on, it will be fun.

Except Mercy had her own idea of fun as her skin blurred a hue of blue right as impact was attained. There was a boom, followed by the cracking of duracrete underneath her boots as she sighed happily and dusted herself off, leaping up towards the bottom floor entrance and came out the other way expecting all manners of trouble.

She did not expect a... gross.

Jogon presumably joined her somewhere in between Isar trying to be slick and smooth. Truth to be told it would probably have worked on any other woman. Mercy however? Her skin crawled just thinking about a man in a romantic fashion. "Boy, if you don't suck those fucking pheromones right up into your body, I will shove them back in and it will be way less pleasant."

If Isar had met her when Mercy had been younger and brasher, he would already be feeling her meaty mountain hands around his dainty throat.

Mercy was experienced now however.

"We are here to rob this place." She glanced towards Jogon and then back to Isar. "You're the first one who wasn't stupid enough to attack us immediately. What do you want?"

 

[Jogon]

Mercy | Isar

Mercy killed herself.​

​

This was what a very primal and instinctive part of Jogon's brain thought, anyway. Obviously that was not the case, as shortly after the loud crash that heralded a successful landing, he could hear her yapping. Jogon produced a grappling hook from his utility belt - yes, he had one - and affixed it to the edge of the shaft. He then began to very stoically, expertly, rappel down to the bottom.​

​

Had someone been waiting for them? He would have thought Mercy would just kill them and be done with it. This must have been a very interesting person to overpower her murderous instincts. Jogon hoped, for their sake, that he also found them equally as interesting. The elevator shaft itself was already enough of a time wasting experience.​

​

He touched down very gently behind Mercy, unclipping the cord with a deft motion. Jogon reflexively sniffed the air, and his face seemed to relax. However slightly.​

​

"Pink wants a cut of the action," Jogon grunted, though it belayed a sense of pheremone-induced indulgence and amusement, "Let's hear the pitch."​

​

Any previous concerns about wasting time were gone. Life is all about chilling out, actually. Urgency is overrated.​

 

[Isar]

The tall Zeltron's chuckle came out a throaty purr.

"Rob? The guys who hired me for security? That seems a little extreme."

Isar rubbed his fingers together, ignoring the big one's comment. If he had a credit for every time someone called him pink or pinky, well, he wouldn't be here would he?

The Zeltron felt the numbness in his chest again. The pervading sense of emptiness. It didn't leave, even after Reave broke him out of that cell. Still surrounded by trash.

Lip twitching with annoyance, Isar shrugged.

"But sure, why not. They underpaid me anyway."

Abruptly, he turned around and started toward a set of blast doors. At a touch of the datapad on his forearm those blast doors slid away, revealing another set of ornate doors, carved from Wroshyr wood and adorned with electrum filigree.

He gestured in a yanking motion and the doors flew open with the Force.

Beyond sat a group of crime lords seated at a bronzium table, still holding their sabacc cards. Some were gaping, others looked pissed, and a few had the expression of oh-kriff-we-are-being-robbed-not-this-bantha-dung-again. A diverse group.

 

[Mercy]

Jogon | Isar

Years ago Mercy would have come in like a wrecking ball and started killing crime lords left and right.

These days she understood words like 'territory', 'influence circle', 'domino effect' and a whole host of others. The point was that killing these people would most likely cause a cascade effect that would throw the criminal underworld into chaos. This wouldn't be a big issue to Mercy if not for the fact that jobs had a way of drying up when the criminal underworld was busy going to the matrasses and fighting a war.

She stepped right up with a big shite-eating grin.

"Okay, ladies and gentlebeings. All the money, please, don't make me ask twice. Your guards are already blood stains dripping off the walls, so your health and wellbeing is firmly in our hands."

Mercy crunched her fists.

It wasn't really necessary, but the large hulking woman enjoyed a nice edge of theatrics.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy | Isar

The pheromones had put Jogon in a pleasant mood. It carried over to his conduct of the robbery. He was chuckling - or perhaps giggling was the better word - throughout the whole process. It was a deep, atramentous sound that seemed to put the kingpins (and queenpins) on edge. He had produced a crude but sturdy sack from and went among the crime lords, relieving them of their credit sticks, jewelry, and other assorted valuables. Like an evil hummingbird among slightly-less-evil flowers.​

​

Eventually he came to a fat sephi in an ill-fitting suit. He had already removed his many rings in diligent preparation and tossed them into the sack, along with everything else worth taking. But Jogon remained, because the fat sephi had at his table a gilded cage with an extremely rare breed of kowakian monkey lizard inside.​

​

"The monkey lizard too," Jogon told him.​

​

The sephi balked, "Are you serious? He's my fucking support animal, man."​

​

Jogon indicated the bag with a shake. The monkey lizard swallowed hard and looked nervously between the two.​

​

"He'll die if you put him in there, man, come on," the sephi snapped. A little recalcitrant for Jogon's tastes, but his disposition was forgiving for once.​

​

"You're right," Jogon said. He looked over his shoulder. "Pink, you carry the lizard cage."​

​

The sephi held up his hands in surrender. He wouldn't stop anyone. Jogon moved on.​

 

[Isar]

“Such a beautiful creature should not be caged,” Isar knelt in front of the bars.

The monkey let out a shriek of outrage. Isar opened the door and the kowakian scampered out immediately, then flew up his arm to perch atop one shoulder. Once there it swayed a little, then became very calm.

Isar still held the gilded cage. It looked expensive.

“You!” One of the crime lords, a generous term to give these petty Black Sun rejects, glowered and pointed at Isar. “You were supposed to guard US!”

The Zeltron gave a little shrug.

“Oops.”

 

[Scour]

He sat right next to the Sephi. A "man" about the size of a wookie with blacked out tattooed skin all over his form. Much of the clothing he wore was loose fitting and baggy. An outfit that hide many minute details of what he may or may not have on his person. A variety of animal hides, leather and some type of flight suit with a strange emblem on it. Yellow eyes gave a scrutinizing glare at the two new arrivals and whoever the hired guard was. A woman, A dashade and a zeltron.

Strange combination in Scours mind.

Assuming Scour was next, he was quick to retaliate but did not make any move against these petty thieves yet.

" Im going to give you one warning. Close the doors on your way out and leave me be. " He growled aloud harshly and took a large swig of some Mandalorian Wine. Two yellow eyes would shift over to the Dashade Jogon .

Tags: Mercy Isar ​

 

[Mercy]

Jogon | Isar | Scour

Everything was going swimmingly until their roadblock rose up unbiddenly from the ground and stood in their way.

This was a pickle.

Mercy could practically taste the corruption coming off of this guy. It was probably wiser to just leave it be, take the rest of the money and go. On the other hand... if they just let this guy boss them around, the others might try and push back too. That would lead to general anarchy in this hostage slash heist situation.

They couldn't have that either.

"We got a problem here, buddy?" Stepping up near Jogon and eyeballing Scour. "Look, your bald head and facial tattoos don't have me hopeful that you know the merits of wealth accumulation and retention. But I am sure you got something in your wallet. So get it out, drop it in my colleague's bag and we will all be back home for dinner."

Her right hand, adorned with sickly living Sith runes, crunched into a fist.

Truth to be told Mercy hoped he'd say no. Make an issue out of it. All of this had been too easy and Mercy really wanted to cause some actual mayhem.

 

[Jogon]

Mercy | Isar | Scour

There were two types of people in this galaxy: those who caved to threats and those who didn't. This man did not have the aura of the former. There would be a fight here and now. Mercy's words were wasted on this man. But something told Jogon she rather liked the sound of her own voice, so perhaps it wasn't a total waste... For her, anyway.​

​

Jogon let the bag fall to the side. Not even a dash of pheromones could lighten his mood now. The adrenaline pump was already starting, the Dark Side roiling within him, braying for blood. What a mess this would turn into. His lightsaber came unclipped from his belt. The simple - maybe even crude by some standards - hilt was unadorned, cold durasteel.​

​

It snapped to life in his hand. Deep red. Who'd have thought, a gentle man like Jogon?​

​

"Stand up, shithead. Let's get this over with."​