This Deal Is To Die For

[John Doe]

The greatest of scum and villiany were gathered in an abandoned warehouse in Nar Shaddaa.

Nar Shaddaa. The Smuggler's Moon. A moon where crime reigned supreme, and lawlessness trumped order. Where the darkness held danger, but also a chance to make your fortune, or to lose it all. It was chaos, pure and simple.

That's what attracted John Doe to the moon.

Tonight, he had great plans for the future of Nar Shaddaa. He had sent out a message to all crime families and organizations on the moon, from the lowliest of street gangs to the syndicates that didn't even 'exist', to meet tonight.

'Tonight. Come discuss the future of Nar Shaddaa. Warehouse 6.'

And so they had come. Leaders of all banners had put their differences aside for one night, just this one night, to negotiate and parley with the sender of the message. Doe had to thank Kirk Rand, his right hand, for that. Without his skill in slicing and his underground contacts, the clown would've had no idea how to get his message across. It was a practice that Doe had made sure to perfect: to make sure his followers' strengths balanced his weaknesses.

The true leaders of Nar Shaddaa gathered in the empty warehouse. Tables were set, and each band had their own assorted muscle posing in the backdrop, a not so subtle contest between each other of who had the biggest boys, the biggest guns. All sorts of groups were there. Street gangs, remnants of the Hutt Cartel, The Bounty Hunter Guild, Black Sun, and many, many more. Their leaders sat in relative silence, interrupted by the occasional cough, waiting for the sender of the message to show him or herself.

The doors to the warehouse swung open. In walked John Doe, dressed to perfection in a purple tuxedo. His hair was a shocking green, slicked back to a sheen. He was a bright contrast to the gloom of the rusty, decaying storage area, and all eyes turned to him and those next to him. To his right was Kirk Rand, a scruffy yet dangerous Corellian, his leather jacket shining in the dim light overhead. To his left was the hulking Ayi'Tir, a massive Gen'Dai with a mean streak and a penchant for murder. His durasteel armor was painted in splotches of purple, and his helmet was painted white, with a red, leering smile drawn on. Behind him were several goons, wearing masks of different variations of jesters. Some were smiling, others were laughing, and a few were frowning. Mixed into the group were a few mercenaries as well. They were specialists, hired to provide a very specific role in the ensuing negotiations. These individuals, along with Kirk, had special instructions and a very specific item sitting in their right pockets.

The group moved forward to the gathered leaders of Nar Shaddaa and stopped when Doe did, close to the group of tables, where all could see him plainly. His face was recently reconstructed, the victim of a vicious fight, and a multitude of scars covered his face where the medical droid had left it's mark. Before he spoke, the clown made a mock bow, trying not to giggle as he did it, much to the chagrin of the 'professional' criminals.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and sentients. Thank you for joining me this fine night."

The leaders of Nar Shaddaa grumbled in disapproval. They had all heard of the Pale One. But they thought he was just a junkies' tale, something told to scare each other. Yet here he was, speaking before them all.

"As you all know, we've gathered you all here for a reason: to discuss Nar Shaddaa's future. So, where to start? Should've brought a presentation card with me. Hahaha!"

The crime lords became visibly upset as the clown belted out his signature laugh.

"Let's begin..."

[member="Darth Venefica"] [member="Harley"] Fenstermacher

 

[Harley Fenstermacher]

Na Shadda, Na Haaska, what was the difference, both were well built up worlds with strong crime ties that sat wandering the outerim with not much participation in the ongoing wars a place that never seemed to change. The only real contradictions was Haaska being more a trade world and an actual planet compared to smugglers moon. Still the rules where the same, ruling party was the same and the crime rate and flow of cash was the same, all goo things in the end for people who were out to make a dishonest buck.

As of now the Echani arms deadly slowly followed behind the somewhat insane crime lord, something which the two shared it seemed, Harley dressed in a grey business suit and long gray jeans, a black as night under shirt and a small slug thrower on holster. The rest of the group being an unruly bunch, many different and dangerous people, which was a good thing, meant less change of anyone doing something stupid.

Coming to a stop the scared man finally gave a greeting, Harley just standing there with the small creepy smile, not making much reaction to the man rather odd show. "Well I would say it is nice to be here, but that would not really make sense for anything we are about to do... also I really doubt any off us here are nice", and now came the groan storm, seems the other crime bosses where not the joking kind.

Who would blame then crime was no joking matter, now mass genocide, that was something to laugh at, "Humor aside [member="John Doe"], what are we doing here, who are we killing and what is the pay out"?

 

[Via Dolorosa]

Standing off in a shadowy corner, away from the criminals at the table, Darth Venefica picked grime from underneath her fingernails. Normally she would not have the desire to align with such people, but times where changing and so was her opinion about great many other topics. She was here for credits, to aid in feeding the Sith war machine; nothing more and nothing less. ​

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She eyed a few of the men, with their pumped up muscle boys, with suspicious eyes; but one man and his boy toy in particular. Yet, she remained where she was. When the doors opened and spewing forth from those doors came a man dressed bigger than life, she could only smile. She was here to work with him and nobody else. He was the shed, these others were mere tools to exhaust until their sharpen needs grew dull; and became replaced.​

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She listened to the man speak, nodding mentally to herself. Nar Shaddaa was on her list of hated planets, and more so those Hutts that ruled it. Her sisters and brothers in the Sith Empire approved of such positive slavery, but she opposed it; found it appalling. But she had cast aside her own prejudices for that of bringing a financial bounty to her Empire. Her days of running headstrong, or foolishly, into battle had eroded with age; she now did the work behind the shadows for the Empire, forcing her to work with those she rather impale upon her blade.​

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"Before we again."​

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Peeling herself off the dark wall, she approached the man and his body guard with malice in her locked gaze.​

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"This man and his lover are not fit to be here.....spies of the Hutts they are."​

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The muscle man made to stand up, prompting one of her cloak's tendrils to react to the threat bearing down on their wearer. With a flash of a second, the smoky tendril killed the man, resurrecting him to her side. Cocking her head, she simply pointed to the spy with a gleaming eye. The zombie-like creature mauled the man violently and viciously; spraying blood across the table. Drawing her hilt from her side, she activated it and slayed the undead muscle man; sending him to join his undead meal ticket.​

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"Now....we can begin."​

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​

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[member="John Doe"] l [member="Harley"] Fenstermacher​

 

[John Doe]

John Doe watched with glee as [member="Darth Venefica"] did her thing. The various crime lords all gasped in shock and disgust, but stayed in place. They didn't want to take the chance of the same thing happening to them if they attempted to leave.

"Hahaha! Oh, what a mess! Cleanup on Aisle 4! Bahahaha!"

He then turned to Harley and smirked maliciously, speaking in a hushed tone to him.

"Oh, you'll know when it happens, friend."

Turning back to the large group, The Pale One extended his arms and cleared his throat, signalling for everyone's rapt attention.

"Where was I? Ah, yes. To begin, I hate this Moon. I hate every single one of you seated in front of me. Just the thought of you...things...even existing makes me want to take a bleach bath. The thought of systematically eradicating all of you crossed my mind more than once. But, I am not without mercy. I have a proposition. Fifty percent of your business belongs to me. In return, I offer protection. From who, you may ask? From me. And you scum can operate as normal, continue your hedonistic, power-fueled spin on the hamster wheel that is life."

Most of the crime lords grumbled to themselves quietly. A few of them looked as if they were aching to grab their weapons and gun the clown down where he stood. Good.

"That is my ultimatum. If you refuse it, well, there will be consequences. Very dire ones. Hehehe!"