Private The Second Inning

[Malcoma Hesse]

Uscru Entertainment District, Coruscant
// Ivory Stroud \\
// outfit \\
​

Skeptical didn't begin to cover it.

Malcoma didn't believe people did anything purely out of the goodness of their hearts, especially not if the pot wasn't being considerably sweetened, and definitely not if they were a man. Her former Coruscanti tipster Vyn Dalle fulfilled those qualifiers two for two. She had not paid—let alone seen—him in years, both for the same reason: she assumed Coruscant was not safe for her. Ever since her close call with the CSF raid that had effectively ended her business dealings in the ecumenopolis, she hadn't seen the need to keep someone else's eye on the closest thing to a homeworld as she had ever had.

Read: she hadn't transferred him any sort of funds in about two years.

She was therefore surprised when he rung her out of the apparent blue. Very. And had started silently calculating possibilities of ulterior motives once the still-familiar frequency came across her communicator screen. One of the many ways she survived was by never forgetting a contact, even when they were cut. Perhaps the sentiment went both ways.

Regardless, his message had been clear. The Family had come back from the dead, at least allegedly. The purpose, both his and theirs, was a handful of powers of magnitude murkier, but the madam begrudgingly made the decision to follow the lead. Dalle was one moving part to this shocking news, the mafia another. Malcoma had lost all semblance of loyalty to the latter; they hadn't warned her that somehow a warrant had come up for her back when she still was loyal after all.

Still, she was curious enough to bite. Perhaps more desperate. Her pastime with a particular group of unsavouries coupled with a shortage of business…opportunities and staff to take them up had almost dried her coffers hidden about the Galaxy. The Family had never left her or her girls wanting once in the short time she had associated with them. Maybe a similar partnership could be renewed. She owed it to her family to find out.

From the moment she landed to the one in which she approached the Star Lounge was not long at all. Along her beeline to her old stomping grounds, she walked by the former address of her own hibernating business: Lovecraft Plaza, suite 5. A passing glance into the courtyard revealed that a spice dealership had moved in. The memories of how the company had thrived before merging with the greater crime syndicate, then had crashed relatively soon after joining its fold came back all at once.

So too did a question. Was this really a good idea? Desperate times and hasty decisions didn't seem to make even slightly compatible bedfellows, and Malcoma would sleep with nearly anyone. But, on the other hand, what was the harm in having a simple conversation to feel out options?

Malcoma found her way through the semi-crowded main room with practiced ease. Her bodyguard Damris did the same a few strides behind. She meandered up to the bar where golden artificial light bounced off the crystalline glassware. A man who saw her approach got up to offer her his seat on one of the counter's velvet-topped stools. When she had slid into place, he hadn't moved. In fact, he was staring. She could feel his gaze heavy on her profile. If he was waiting for a thank you, he'd be standing there until closing time.

"What brings a woman like you—?"

"Thirst," Malcoma interrupted, punctuating her point by waving over a bartender and ordering a martini. "Now shoo."

 

[Ivory Stroud]

The small crowd assembled at the bar and the downstairs tables erupted into applause, drowning out whatever whatever the man's reply might have been. If she looked over her shoulder, toward the wall opposite the bar, Malcoma would see the stage's red curtain being pulled aside by unseen hands. Behind the curtain was a band consisting of a handful of sentients, each dressed in fine clothing of black & white and each sporting an instrument of some kind. A heartbeat later, a woman swept from Stage Right into the spotlight - her gold dress sparkling in the lights of the stage. She was immensely beautiful, and her face would be familiar... doubtlessly, the former Madame would recognize it from billboards she'd passed on her way to the lounge:

Neesa Loroka - the Lounge's "Shooting Star" entertainer. The applause continued until the band struck up a tune, and Ms. Loroka began to sing...

Whether on purpose or by accident, the song's message seemed... Ironic. And well-timed. Realizing he was going to get nothing more, the man who's seat Malcoma had taken had retrieved his hat and coat and was already moving toward the door she'd entered from.

One of the bartenders, a Male Zeltron with hair so deep a blue it appeared black, approached the woman who'd just sat down at the bar. He picked up a half-empty glass from the counter and tucked it away behind the bar - disposing of it as-if he were performing a magic trick. He was clean-shaven, attractive, and his voice was smooth as silk, even though he had to speak a little louder to be heard over the music. "Hello madame. Good evening. What can I get you?" ​

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

"Just that martini."

Malcoma had long since perfected the art of the sweet yet disinterested octave. That was the voice she projected now. In fact, it was almost mumbled as she turned her head to appraise the performance.

But a moment before the bartender moved away to do her bidding, she whipped back around and gently laid her hand atop his. "And," she added in the exact same tone, "I would like very much to speak to the Proprietor."

Somewhere off to her right at the restaurant table Damris had settled himself at, he resisted reaching under his blazer for the comforting grip of a holdout blaster. He was almost visibly tense. He had heard his boss clearly over the comm hidden in her dangling earrings. Of course, he hadn't been blindsighted—he and Malcoma had discussed the evening's plan of action—but that didn't mean he wasn't still nervous. If that was no longer the code phrase, a bouncer might well start shooting; should that happen, well, Damris was determined to be faster.

Malcoma, on the other hand, stayed as cool as ever. The irony of Ms. Loroka's song was not lost on her. In fact, it convinced her that she was safe. It was the same old Family, at least thus far.

"Would that be possible?"

There was some charm mixed in with her words.



**
Ivory Stroud

 

[Ivory Stroud]

The Zeltron bartender had begun to step away to prepare her martini, but he stopped mid-step, looked down at the hand placed over his, turned his gaze back to hers, and offered her another smile - strangely, this one more genuine than the first.

"Let me fix your drink, madame." He indicated the lone stairwell beside the bar, next to the hallway where the restrooms and door to the kitchens were located. The volume of his tone lowered, speaking to her in a more private tone: "Up the stairs, turn right, follow the booths to the back. Private table on the right."

Upon following his instructions, Malcoma Hesse would find the upstairs dining area as fancy as the main room - a few tables were occupied, but the clientele were generally quieter and more private. This area was where the majority of diners were sat, and the gentle lighting, red leather, and brass metalwork combined with the beautifully crafted wooden furniture gave the dining room an intimate, high-class 'speakeasy' feel.

The volume of the music finished somewhat, but one could easily look over the railing on the right side to peer into the room downstairs. The band and its' vocalist continued in its' evening set, accompanied by whistles and clapping from the nightly crowd of regulars.

At the end of the velvet carpet, Malcoma would find a section of small private booths separated by red velvet curtains - all of them unoccupied save one.

Sitting alone, a woman in a black dress was smoking a cigara. The curling smoke wafted up, cloaking her in a sweet-smelling haze. Atop her head was a wide-brimmed black hat which concealed her face, though she was staring lazily down at a datapad in front of her - a novella, it appeared, rather than a business ledger. A meal, half-finished, had been pushed aside: a roast with tiny fingerling potatoes and stringy greens in a white sauce.

As Malcoma entered, the woman turned her head, drawn by the motion. Beneath the wide brim of the hat, a familiar face peered up at her... Violet eyes, as bright and penetrating as Malcoma remembered, regarded her with a subtle excitement; sparkling in the soft lighting. A smile crept over red rouged lips as Ivory Stroud smiled at her.

"Hello, Malcoma "

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma gave a smile altogether less excited and more guarded back, though just as much subtle. "Ms. Stroud," she replied before indicating at the opposite side of the booth. "May I?" A woman of her occupation couldn't be expected to stand forever. Her stiletto heels would kill her.

Even as she slid onto the plush leather seat, she folded her hand on the. glossy tabletop and go straight to business. "I must admit I expected..." She pursed her lips and hummed though she had picked out her choice of words for this exact conversation last night staring up at the shuttle ceiling, unable to sleep. "...a less amicable reunion."

Malcoma did turn her head to peer off the balcony. Damris was sitting exactly where he had been near the floor. Behind a glass of bourbon on the rocks, he was looking calmer, but surely the edge had only been sanded by cask-aged fermentation. Her blue eyes went back to Ivory. "My man was ready for your people to intercept us as traitors." Boozy or not, he still was, too.

She continued, "Which, of course, mind you, we are not. I simply imagined the way I was run out of Galactic City read as turning coat."



**
Ivory Stroud

 

[Ivory Stroud]

The Donna nodded, indicating with an open palm & watching as the former Madame and Family Associate slid into the booth opposite her.

She said nothing, listening as Malcoma Hesse explained the reason for her reserved demeanor. The Donna's eyebrows narrowed slightly beneath the wide brim of the hat as she shifted slightly in her seat, squaring off with the woman opposite her at Malcoma's insistence neither she nor her 'companion' were traitors.

"You mean, the gentleman who followed you in, seated downstairs with a glass of bourbon while concealing a blaster beneath his coat?"

She asked, her tone not quite accusative... But still somewhat icy.

The Donna folded her hands together atop the table, regarding Malcoma with the same amused look. The cigara was stubbed out in an ashtray with a soft hiss.

After a brief pause - lingering heartbeats of tension - The Donna smiled again.

"You were not the only one to be raided, Madame Hesse."

"Aspects of our business, entirely beyond your scope or involvement, suffered similar or worse fates to your own. That... Unfortunate bit of business was entirely out of your hands."

Ivory took a deep breath, shifted in her seat, and seemed to relax.

"The Family lost good people during those turbulent times; men and women, loyal members, killed throughout the Galaxy because they refused to lay down their weapons or turn against us. Millions in credits worth of Family Property, seized, destroyed, or requisitioned. Countless others thought the very same thing you must have - of self-preservation, of survival. Better to cut one's losses and get out while they still could, hmm?"

The Donna reached up toward her face, fucking an errant strand of black hair behind an ear.

"The truth is, my dear... I know you had nothing to do with what happened, all those years - a lifetime ago. For two reasons." She emphasized this point by holding up two fingers. "The first being that if you had, you would not be here, sitting in this booth, across from me."

"And the second is, I already know who the traitor was."

"And they are dead."

The finality behind that statement was as-if she had just spoken a universal law.

Ivory set her hands back down upon the table-top, regarding Malcoma with a face that could have been chiseled from granite.

"There was only one person responsible. What I am about to tell you is known only to a select few... The gravity of such a thing could end us even more completely than the damage this person did."

"The Family was... Infiltrated. By a Jedi."

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma had crossed her legs under the table and leaned back against the backing of the booth to listen to the Donna's responses.

Her first matter of business was a great irony. She better than even the CSF itself knew what a boon security was. One simply took its insurance whenever they could get it.

Next came something as close to forgiveness as Malcoma expected she would ever get, not just from Ivory, but in her life, for anything at all.

And lastly a revelation.

The madam's lined eyes widened slightly. She sat forward. "How righteous," she replied, voice dripping sarcasm. "They must have died very proud of themselves."



**
Ivory Stroud

 

[Ivory Stroud]

"Perhaps at first... But in the end, I assume they felt nothing at all. The only thing worse to a Jedi than death is the loss of the very thing that makes them what they are."

At this, Ivory reached out and plucked a piece of meat from her discarded plate, popping it in her mouth.

She finished chewing, swallowed, then looked at the Family's former associate again.

"This person betrayed our trust, Malcoma. Took oaths reserved only for those that can be trusted. Binding oaths with no expiration, and with terms fully understood between all parties involved. This Family is a strong one... As you may have heard, we are still alive. Weakened, but alive. What you see here..."

The Donna indicated with a brief sweep of her hand the building and everything inside it. "Is the result of no small miracle."

"In case you're unaware, the Family's leadership also suffered... I, myself, was arrested and sent away to a very dark pit. But..."

The Donna's eyes grew distant & cold for a moment until she came back. "I was not prepared to give up on my Family."

She took a deep breath again, sighed, then relaxed - adopting a similar posture to her companion. It seemed as-if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she reached up; removing the wide-brimmed black hat which had once been worn by her predecessor. Ivory placed it on the table between herself and Malcoma, staring at her with her face completely uncovered.

The Donna had grown older in more ways than one... But the vibrancy, confidence, passion, and cleverness she'd once wielded like her very own lightsaber were still very present.

The two sat, for a moment, in silence... Then Ivory spoke again:

"What happened to you, and why did you come back?" She asked, appearing genuinely confused. Anyone who survived this choice of lifestyle and found an exit typically took it; those that did not often found themselves pulled deeper than ever before. Damned by their choices. Consumed by them.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma sighed. She stayed quiet for a handful of beats, but then finally began:

"I took business to Christophsis. Just when Eve seemed to be bouncing back, one of my girls got caught up in a local killer's murder spree. Apparently it was politically motivated, but that wasn't really my concern." She shifted her weight against the booth's leather. The friction of it against the cloth of her trousers gave out to a slight squeak. "I tried to pick up the pieces, but then ran into trouble with the Confederacy's Ministry of Secrets. Are you familiar? A scoundrel offered me a way out. I accepted. He led—leads, rather, presently, I assume—a gang of rapscallions. I..."

The madam trailed off to bite at the side of her lower lip. When she did pick up her sentence from where she had left it, her eyes had gone back to the balcony. Lights of the showtime stage below caught in her irises. "...embarrassingly thought that working with them would afford me and my remaining girls and I a relationship equally symbiotic to the one we found with you." She leveled her gaze at Ivory. "I was mistaken." Her voice came out emphatic, reliving a lesson of the past rather than the events themselves.

"And now I am here before you, a painted queen. All you see remains of my wealth." That explained the relative simplicity of her outfit. Though the gems hanging from her ears were real, she was wearing less jewelry than she typically did. "I was able to escape Coruscant with three of my girls, all of whom are gone now. That gentleman downstairs, Damris, is the only other former employee left. He stays because he still believes he can eat loyalty. As for why I am here, an informant I didn't know I still had passed along some interesting gossip: the Family was back. I should have suspected your organization would turn out more like a great hydra than a womp rat."

There was not venomous edge to how she said the words; she was being literal, not meaningfully insulting. In fact, Ivory may remember that Malcoma never had been able to apologize to anyone, even and perhaps especially her betters, at least not outright. Rather, her apologies often came out of her mouth flipped on its head. The sentiments was the same nonetheless, just uniquely hers.

"I don't bring anything to the table, not yet. But if you would be willing to take me back under your wing, I will become worthy of the investment."

Now it was determination, not distraction, that shone in Malcoma's eyes.



**
Ivory Stroud

 

[Ivory Stroud]

Ivory was, in fact, familiar with the Ministry of Secrets - had even done some brief business with them in the past, before the CiS faded from the galaxy and became known as The Ascendancy. The Ministry had a reputation for sadism & torture - two things The Family considered generally bad business. She nodded, but continued to listen.

At Malcoma's mention of her comrade ("Damris"... she'd remember the name), Ivory turned her head to look down into the room below, marking the man's appearance and studying him for a heartbeat. Loyalty like that was very hard to find.

The Donna could not hide a smug smile at her former Associate's mention of the mythical beast known as The Hydra... the metaphor was not lost on her, certainly. The mythical serpent was considered to be nearly impossible to kill: "cut one head off, and two more shall rise", if she remembered correctly. An apt description - though The Family's own survival may have been less certain than that of The Hydra. Inwardly, The Donna was quite proud of what the remaining members had managed to accomplish. If she had not been there to organize, the great Hydra would have fractured further & further into total obscurity.

When Malcoma had finished speaking, Ivory sat staring at her for a long moment. Long painted nails drummed rhythmically on the table-top, marking time with the beat of the most recent song being sung downstairs.

Then she shifted in her seat, interlacing her fingers and forming a fist with both her hands. She leaned forward, shrinking the distance between the two women as her penetrating gaze searched Malcoma's face... for... something.

Apparently satisfied, The Donna rested her back once again against the cushion.

"You told me, once, that only two things in this galaxy never forget. Do you remember?"

"A bantha... and a Career Criminal."

"This Family has never forgotten you, Malcoma... and I don't believe you've ever forgotten this Family."

"The bartender downstairs - The Zeltron you spoke with when you first arrived? His name is Phaelix. He's an old associate... One of the few I was able to locate upon my return to Coruscant. He's a friend of ours. Order yourself & Damris a meal on the house. After closing tonight, speak with Phaelix and tell him what you need. He'll get you started."

At this, The Donna reached back toward her hat, picking it up and placing it back on the top of her head... the signal that their meeting had, for the moment at least, concluded.

 

[Malcoma Hesse]

Malcoma nodded at the signal. She got up and turned back the way she had come without a word. Back on base level, she sauntered up to the bar once more. "Phaelix," she called out over it, "darling?" When he came over, she'd wind at him. "Could I get some supper for my associate and I?" Before he could ask what dish they would fancy, she added, "Surprise me."

She then went to visit Damris' table.

"Still in one piece," he observed on her approach.

She settled opposite him, stretching her hands over the standing tabletop. "See, baby?" she asked rhetorically. "I told you it'd work out." She reached out for her bodyguard's drink, of which he gave her and she took a sip. As she handed it back, she shrugged. "The game would either end or it would continue. Either one would have behooved you, but it seems like we're both in luck now."



**
Ivory Stroud

 

[Ivory Stroud]

Phaelix approached and gave the blonde woman one of his winning smiles, nodded, then turned toward one of the computer systems to place their order.

In a very short time, Phaelix himself would deliver their meals by-hand: An oven-roasted Tip-Yip salad with mixed greens, an assortment of vegetables, and their home-made House Dressing with a steaming-fresh hot bread roll for Malcoma Hesse and a large order of sweet-smoked Kaadu ribs with potatoes and a berry muffin for her companion. The portions were generous, and elicited a number of stares from a few patrons nearby who'd clearly not eaten recently.

Phaelix also provided fresh drinks for the two companions (Also on the house), and gave them both a bow before leaving them to their meal.

The music continued, and the pair were able to enjoy their repast without a care.