The Search Begins

[Jak Skirata]

Spoiler

Terminus was a cesspool. No two ways about it, though you'd be hard pressed to convince some trust fund Core boy or Outer Rim vapor farmer that it wasn't just another Outer Rim success story. Located right between the Hydian Way and the Corellian Trade Spine it was the richest world in the sector, probably the richest world in the whole Outer Rim. "A Place of Opportunity" he'd seen a tourism holo shout in bright colors and fancy font as he flew his junker in to the planet's bustling skyscape. It was anything but, unless you were coming with your own private army and a moon's worth of credits. Terminus was cut-throat and if it wasn't pinned to the ground with maglocs, encrypted by the best slicers out there, or guarded by a state of the art security system it probably wouldn't be yours for very long.

Tal Ka'ra flew into the spaceport and locked down before Davin left with strict orders to Aran to guard the ship. After getting hassled by the local Vicks he was able to make it into the city. He knew better than to try a cab, so he walked...And walked...and walked. By the time he'd gotten to the building it was nearing the night cycle and he wondered if she would even be here. If not he'd have to walk back to the spaceport which was a walk he didn't want to repeat.

When he finally got to her door he tried to open it. Locked. He sucked his teeth and rapped his fist on the door a few times and waited.

[member="Seniya Nehir"]

 

[Seniya Nehir]

[member="Davin Skirata"]​

​

Terminus. From a cursory glance, it was easy to see why the sprawling ecumenopolis was considered a shining jewel in the otherwise humble crown of the Outer Rim. With gleaming duracrete spires that stretched out as far as the eye could see, no one could dispute the shear amount of power and wealth on display. Of course, the veneer began to chip once you dropped below the first hundred or so levels, revealing the twisted and misshapen core that was the planet’s true form. Down here, amongst the perpetual twilight created by the shadows of those same gleaming spires, life was a very much different game of sabacc. A game where the buy in was cheap, but the stakes infinitely high in comparison to the meager pot you came away with. Assuming, of course, you came away at all.

Even before the Sith and the First Order broke the back of the Galactic Alliance, countless sentients had ventured to the galactic hub each year looking for their fortune, only to instead find themselves sinking further and further into its seemingly bottomless depths. The strong managed to survive living off the scraps that filtered down from above, etching out a shallow and fleeting existence well beyond the protection of the world’s security forces, while the weak found themselves gradually disappearing, falling victim to the incessant dangers that lurked in the shadows of the undercity.

Where exactly Seniya fell on that particular spectrum was a matter of debate. Without the backing of her clan, nor the austere yet surprisingly limitless funds afforded by a Jedi Order, her financial status - and thus general status on the entire planet - was constantly in flux. As evident from the ramshackle apartment-slash-office she was working out of. More of a dive than a place of business, but then… Folks down this far weren’t exactly known for being picky.

Or for knocking, the Kiffar mused as three sharp raps resounded from the thick, rusted security door that stood between her and the rest of the crumbling world. Her hand straying towards one of the lightsabers strapped to her thighs as she cautiously made her way to the entrance. Her nose wrinkled as she passed the ancient caf dispenser. At this point, calling it caf was probably a misnomer. By now, the thick, soupy primordial sludge in the bottom of the pot was no doubt only a few days away from developing sentience.

Whoever it was, hopefully they came bearing caf.

“It’s late.” She called out, more of a statement of fact than a complaint. Nobody kept regular business hours on Terminus, especially down here in the lower levels. The bolts securing the heavy security door slid back, half a dozen or so clicking their retreat before the door slid open. Her weary expression becoming wary at the distinctive T-visor that awaited her on the other side, lips pursing for a moment before jerking her head. Stepping back a few paces to allow admittance. In her experience, much like the natives of Terminus, Mandos didn’t knock unless it was important. She would simply have to forgive the lack of caffeinated beverages for now. “Make it quick.”

 

[Jak Skirata]

A grunt came in response before the bolts began sliding and clicking away. When the rusty door slid open it screeched louder than he expected to reveal the small Kiffar woman he'd flown half way across they Galaxy to find. He didn't think getting in would be this easy but he shrugged off the idea and stepped into the apartment office hybrid, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He took a quick scan of his surroundings and noted the caf machine looking old and rather questionable, but caf was caf right? He took a few steps towards the dilapidated machine before stopping in his tracks, the smell piercing his helmet's filtration causing him to wrinkle his nose in disgust behind the T-shaped visor.

"You need to clean this," he muttered in Mando'a accented basic before waving a hand in front of his visor. She probably didn't need a Mandalorian, least of all Davin, giving her advice on how to live in a a clean and healthy environment and the benefits of doing so, but it needed to be said if the smell penetrated a Mandalorian helmet. He neglected to mention that his helmet's life scanners had picked up something moving in the bowels of the blackened caffeine dispenser. "I need your help finding some people," he started and reached into his robed armor. When his hand came back out it wasn't a weapon he was holding, well at least not a blaster. It was a busted up lightsaber, more of a hunk of metal than a ceremonial weapon from a more civilized age. The crystal which was visible inside burned bright red even through the dark cables, wires, and tape that seemed to be keeping it in the the weapon.

A Heart of Fire.

He gestured at her and tossed it at her unceremoniously. It flew threw the air rather awkwardly for a lightsaber. Made with heavy beskar and with a telescopic hilt it felt more akin to a beskad or hammer than an elegant hilt. A House Skirata wolf was burned into one of the beskar panels.

[member="Seniya Nehir"]​

 

[Seniya Nehir]

[member="Davin Skirata"]​

​

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll get right on that.” The detective countered flatly, not even bothering to hide the obligatory eye roll that accompanied the response, instead folding her arms impatiently as she waited for the Mandalorian to be satisfied with his inspection of her office. Much like private investigators, bounty hunters were a cagey and inquisitive breed by nature. A necessity given their line of work, and one she would ordinarily sympathise with, but she simply wasn’t in the mood for advice on food hygiene standards at dark o’clock at night. Even if it was worth taking. Some of the burbles eminanting from the pot were starting to look a little ominous to say the least. “And these people, do they want to be found?”

Translation: was there a contract on their head?

Chasing down bail jumpers was one thing, but bounty hunting work was often more akin to assassination than justice on the Outer Rim. Her time with the Order and the Guardians might have been behind her, but that didn’t mean Seniya was comfortable in facilitating the former.

The appearance of a lightsaber caught her off guard, as did the heavy weight the hilt carried as it slapped into her palm. The darkly wrought iron housing lending it a considerable heft she wouldn’t normally associate with lightsabers. It was almost the weight of her own pair combined. “Beskar?”

It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of the unexpected. Though she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything else. A Mandalorian material for a decidedly Mandalorian weapon. Less a weapon for finesse, more a tool for war. Her former master had been a firm believing in lightsabers being a reflection of their maker, offering an intimate glimpse at not necessarily who they were on the surface, but who they wanted to be. What they wanted to represent. If that was truly the case, then the owner of this particular blade had fallen on some rather hard times indeed.

“I can tell you whoever owned this was a fan of Djem So.” She mused, turning the weapon over in her hand. Tracing the familiar looking weathered lines in the grip with her thumb. Recognizing the telltale hand positioning of the form from her own weapons. Again, not hugely surprising. Beskads were popular amongst the Mando’ade, and the traditional styles they practiced made for a natural foundation for the Way of the Krayt Dragon.

When was a Beskad not a Beskad?

“This gem, though..” Seniya pursed her lips. All lightsabers carried precious gemstones, which was sort of ironic given the Jedi commitment to austere living. But this one in particular carried a certain significance amongst her people that extended past the otherwise exorbitant monetarial value. For the staunchly clan based Kiffar, this particular stone was synonymous with the forging of familial bonds. It was why it was rarely traded off world. Which begged the obvious question, “What’s a Heart of Fire doing in a Mandalorian weapon?”

 

[Jak Skirata]

He wasn't sure how to answer her question. Truth be told, whoever he was looking for, if they were even still alive, were definitely not expecting him. Since he couldn't give her an honest answer he chose not to answer the question at all. Instead he turned on her and explored until he found something that didn't look like it would fall apart under his weight and sat down. She didn't really seem to have a high opinion of hygiene, nor did it seem like she kept anything organized, but he had to give her credit when it came to deducing things about others without much information.

He shrugged and leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

"You got me," he said, his voice dripping with condescension, "Djem So just gets the job done and the heavy hilt adds the weight I'm used to." But he was just being coy with her now and it was getting late. As much as he could handle himself if it came down to it, he'd rather not cause an incident in the city. He preferred to keep the title of Judge clean when in populous places like this in the Outer Rim.

"The Heart of Fire belonged to my older brother and our father before him. Our mother is-- Was Kiffar and gave it to our father the day they were married." He sighed heavily, obviously frustrated by something. "I'm looking for her Clan. I've gone as far as I can on my end, but even with my psychometry I can't make sense of any of the images or feelings from the Kiffar side, her family history, It's like when I get deep enough in something just rips the path from under my feet."

The T-shaped visor fell on the woman now, its threatening ambiguity a stark contrast with the frustration coming from the Mandalorian in waves. One thing was for sure, the man sitting in her office was a killer and he knew how to use a saber, but when it came to the peace and tranquility of a Jedi or hyper focused deadly calm of the Sith in the Force, this Mandalorian had know idea how to mask his feelings.

"I needed someone familiar with Kiffar heritage with psychometry," he stood up and removed his helmet, tossing it on the desk. The beskar bucket landed with a loud thud and clank. "I also needed someone who could keep up with me. By the Manda, why is it so hot in here?"

[member="Seniya Nehir"]

 

[Seniya Nehir]

[member="Davin Skirata"]​

​

“My master was always a fan of Makashi, but I always preferred Djem So myself, too.” Seniya tugged one of her own lightsabers free from the thigh holster, hefting it a little in her off hand while comparing the weight with the Mandalorian’s weapon in the other. She was sure there were advantages with beskar over duranium, but the added mass felt as foreign to her hand as the warrior’s culture was to her mindset. While normally hating having others touch either of her weapons, she turned her own lightsaber over in her hand, offering it out horizontally for inspection. Fair was fair, after all. “Discharge cells and opila crystals. Less weight, more power and intensity.”

So it was a family matter. Love, sex, greed and family. The four primary motivations that sent clients to her door, although usually at a more reasonable hour. Of those, it was always the more complicated in her continually evolving experience. Love blinded, sex enflamed, greed incited, but family… Family always had a way of disappointing you. There were just some stones, some gemstones in this case, weren’t meant to be turned over. Everyone wanted to ask the questions, but no one really wanted the answers.

“Sounds like you’re trying to focus too much on the minor details, not the bigger picture. Can’t see the forest for the trees.” She said, perching on the edge of desk. There was no judgement or haughtiness in her tone of voice, more matter of fact. It was an all too familiar problem that afflicted most kiffar possessing the rare gift of psychometry, herself included. The more you tried to grab at a single detail, the more the image - experience? - slipped out from under you. “Not to mention, you’ve made it even more difficult by attuning it for a lightsaber. Basically stamping yourself over the original signature. I’m surprised you were able to get anything at all.”

​

She pursed her lips into a thin line, letting her senses open themselves up just a scooch as she regarded the crystal a little more closely. Not enough to glimpse into the object’s past, nor even a proper read, but enough to get a sense of the psychic imprint that lingered on the surface. There was something there, all right. Beneath the presence of the man currently trying not to break her couch. Wispy tendrils - fragments - hinting at something older, something long buried by both the decades and willful suppression.

“The heat vents from noodle shop below us open up just outside.” The former Jedi murmured without glancing up, gesturing lazily towards the spira steam clouds currently winding their way up past the window. Swaying slightly to avoid the helmet as it passed her on route to denting her already weathered desk. Mentally adding that expense to the eventual bill coming his way, right under the hefty line about out of hours consultation. First she needed to manage his expectations, however.

“There’s something definitely here…” Seniya began, tapping the crystal with her index finger before offering a shrug. Placing the lightsaber down beside her in favofr of matching his dark brown hues with her own. “But whether or not it has the answers you’re looking for, your guess is as good as mine. Could be something, could be nothing, could be a nexu chasing its own tail.”

Another shrug.

​

“As more reliable clues go, I would say you were probably best trying to run her qukuuf,” she gestured to mix of broken and unbroken horizontal lines crossing her own features, “against the Guardian’s Clan registry. Of course, to get you access as an outsider, even of the blood, that’d mean petitioning the Sheyf.”

Which posed an entirely different set of complications.

 

[Jak Skirata]

The lightsaber fell into his gloved hand and he noted how light it was compared to his own, not that he'd never held another lightsaber before, but it always surprised him regardless. He toyed with the idea of flipping the switch to see what color the blade was, but decided activating a weapon in a ex-Jedi's room after barging in at night on Terminus was a bad idea. It was commonly thought that beskar was invulnerable, even to the blade of a lightsaber. The burns and notches in his brother's armor told a different story, and so he wondered if this woman's lightsaber with its enhanced power cells and rare crystal could cut through his armor.

With a nod appreciating the craftsmanship, especially compared to his crude design of exposed wire and crystal, he set the weapon down beside him. Her comment was true, which is why Gil had told him if this was something he wanted to do he needed another set of eyes on it. But he didn't realize how much he'd shot himself in the foot using the crystal as his focusing crystal. Davin was no Jedi, he'd never had formal training on the spiritual side of the Force. During the war with the Sith they were told to utilize any tools they could do get the upper hand, and that's all it was to him...A tool and so those spiritual things, the connection with his blade, he didn't have, or at least he thought he didn't.

She was telling him differently now.

Davin gave her an incredulous look when she began speaking of ways to find this long lost family of his and folded his arms.

"Wait, wait, wait. Why are you telling me this? Ain't this what I'm paying you for? Besides, I've never even been to Kiffu." He shook his head, "And there's no way they'd let me anywhere near those records without," he made a circular movement with his right hand in front of his face, "a...qurackoof?" No that wasn't right, "You're coming with." He said it with such authority that it seemed more like he was saying 'Go pack your bags' than asking if she had the time to leave the planet and her office.

"I've got the credits to cover whatever the expenses are, despite my appearance. Besides, you need to get out of this stink hole before whatever's growing in that caf crawls out and kills you."

[member="Seniya Nehir"]