Character
Denon: Lower Levels, Late at Night.
They said the lower levels never slept. A constant hive of activity, the detritus of life on a planet. With numerous corporations on top and the Alliance focusing on the Maw's territorial advances, it was the perfect place to make her start. Though she knew Coruscant's underworld better, it was right at the heart of the Alliance. Far too easy to catch the eye of CorSec or the rangers if she grew too big. Easier for nosy Jedi to get to as well.
Evelyn had spent a few weeks gathering intel from various places. A myriad of gangs, crews and minor families ran in the lower levels, mixing with the shadowrunners and corporate targets that littered Denon. She had little interest in the lofty ideals of freedom fighters. Places like this bred desperation, and there was always money in desperation. Case in point: the Dessen Crew.
Out of all the gangs she'd taken note of, the Dessen were perfect. A mid-sized group of several people, largely young muscle, with plenty of potential. Not much in the way of brains in there. They ran petty, small-time protection scams on their local area, which was oozing with potential corruption. Evelyn could whip them into shape. She could make them better. And she would, only with her in charge. To that end, she'd contracted out, just in case.
The arrangements were made discretely. A handsome credit reward for an appropriately skilled mercenary, preferably with a massive blaster too. Potential for violence, maybe a killing or two, but Evelyn didn't need them to do all the dirty work. She was more than capable of handling some gang thugs. Especially with that lightsaber on her belt.
She stood waiting near the raucous hideout of the Dessen Crew, hearing the faint sounds of trashy, bass-y dance music. They'd made their home in a lower level of a massive habitation building, where it'd been long since abandoned. Nothing but the haze of moisture, floating deep deep down from the surface, as Evelyn waited. A hood over her face, obscuring her features. Eyes watching, waiting. Rimmed with a slight, yellow glow.
Roi Lutador
They said the lower levels never slept. A constant hive of activity, the detritus of life on a planet. With numerous corporations on top and the Alliance focusing on the Maw's territorial advances, it was the perfect place to make her start. Though she knew Coruscant's underworld better, it was right at the heart of the Alliance. Far too easy to catch the eye of CorSec or the rangers if she grew too big. Easier for nosy Jedi to get to as well.
Evelyn had spent a few weeks gathering intel from various places. A myriad of gangs, crews and minor families ran in the lower levels, mixing with the shadowrunners and corporate targets that littered Denon. She had little interest in the lofty ideals of freedom fighters. Places like this bred desperation, and there was always money in desperation. Case in point: the Dessen Crew.
Out of all the gangs she'd taken note of, the Dessen were perfect. A mid-sized group of several people, largely young muscle, with plenty of potential. Not much in the way of brains in there. They ran petty, small-time protection scams on their local area, which was oozing with potential corruption. Evelyn could whip them into shape. She could make them better. And she would, only with her in charge. To that end, she'd contracted out, just in case.
The arrangements were made discretely. A handsome credit reward for an appropriately skilled mercenary, preferably with a massive blaster too. Potential for violence, maybe a killing or two, but Evelyn didn't need them to do all the dirty work. She was more than capable of handling some gang thugs. Especially with that lightsaber on her belt.
She stood waiting near the raucous hideout of the Dessen Crew, hearing the faint sounds of trashy, bass-y dance music. They'd made their home in a lower level of a massive habitation building, where it'd been long since abandoned. Nothing but the haze of moisture, floating deep deep down from the surface, as Evelyn waited. A hood over her face, obscuring her features. Eyes watching, waiting. Rimmed with a slight, yellow glow.
Roi Lutador
