This one is mine.

[Simone]

Denon
Lower Levels
In the shadows...


The scuffle was fairly quiet, normal by lower level standards and punctuated by the occasional curse. No one batted an eyelid to the scrawny man having ten barrels beaten out of him by a heavily booted zeltron girl whose pink and blue hair glinted int passing light of the traffic. This was not normally her style, the beating that is, she made a living out of skulking in alleys and conversing lowlifes of the galaxy but kicking ten barrels out of them was not what she did.

This however was a special case, Blake had been an informer of hers for a long time, gave solid information, never turned up late to meetings. He was one of the reliable ones. She should have picked up the signals when he rocked up almost an hour late to their last meet up, skittish and spluttering information on a large shipment of spice run by the Black Suns. A criminal syndicate she'd been trialling with for a while, the opportunity was too good not to take.

What he'd failed to tell her was that it was a trap. That the first wave of thugs they'd taken down were only the bait. Ten good men, two blaster wounds and a seriously wounded pride later, Simone tracked the little schutta down on Denon. If she couldn't hit the Black Suns, perhaps hitting him would make her feel better. She relented her assault to catch her breath, assessing the damage to her knuckles and the slight tremble of fury in her fingers.

Blake spat blood, doubled over and groaning. "I had no choice." he said, for the umpteenth time.

"Like hell," she snapped back. "You've given me heads up before on traps, what was different this time around?" he whimpered, spat another mouthful of blood and straightened up, there was something in his eyes, a slight gleam to them. She curled her fingers round the knife at her hip.

"Alright, alright. I had a choice, fact of the matter is pinky-" the blade hissed as it slid from her sheath. "They've always paid better." The words caught her off guard and she blinked at him. The moment to process those words was all he needed to get the drop on her, his own fist flying to crack her across the jaw, snapping her head to one side and stumbling back. He made a break for it, and Simone reacted on instinct, adjusting the grip on the blade in her hand she launched it at his back. It connected with a soft thunk and a subsequent scream of pain.

But Blake kept running.

Simone swore.

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

It had been a day, and as Declan sat at the bar wreathed in smoke, he grunted, lighting another death-stick, sipping the swill that passed for brandy in this place. The drink was damn near rancid, is what it was. But it burned his throat and spread fire in his belly in a pleasant and numbing way, and his fingers and nose were tingly and warm, a sure sign he was on his way to being drunk as a Rodian in the Cantina band. With a heaving sigh, he set the death-stick on a cheap ash tray and returned to his notes.

Patient today was a man, clearly a victim of an assault. He looked like he might pissed off a tribe of exceptionally rabid and constipated Ewoks. Or commented about the morals of a wookies mom, or something else insane and life-threatening. Several fractured ribs, which had been easy enough. The crack in the clavicle had been tricky, with his supplies running low and his 'operating room' being a haphazardly sanitized back room here in this hell-hole. But, there wasn't much to it once he found the trick. The real stumper had been a lovely little serrated throwing knife lodged just a few centimeters from the spine of the low-life.

Hells, to be honest in his military days that knife would have brought out a black tag, a moments pray and nothing more. Another sip of brandy as the ghosts of his pasts welled up in his mind, clamoring for his guilt and sorrow. But he wielded the low-ball glass like a Mando Commando might a beskad or that a poet might a pen, cleaving the wave of emotion in twain with burning liquor trickling down his gullet. A pretty penny in time, and not much in the way of payment, but the man would live. Neurosurgery was iffy, and he'd likely need cybernetics due to poor nerve function. But frankly, in a place like this, it was a miracle the operation had been a success. Out of some sort of macabre sense of payment, he had kept the knife, it rested in his boot in a sheath now. Not that he knew much of using them. That was for the coach gun in the pocket of his pea-coat.

Now he sat drinking, waiting for the next emergency or tragedy.

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

They've always paid better...

His words were looping round and round in her head, souring her mood with each passing hour as she tracked him. Swinging by his usual hideouts and favourite bars, someone mentioned a doctor that didn't ask too many questions and worked out of bar down and so she let her boots carry her there. She could have caught a speeder, might have beaten him to the doctor then and finished the job but Simone liked to walk the streets. Plus, she had a a growing suspicion by his last words that Blake had never been hers, that he had been a double agent and if that was the case, she needed him partially patched up, juts so she could pull him apart and find out what he'd told them.

She ducked through the bars front door, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim light and haze of smoke. The bartender looked up and swore at the sight of her approaching, throwing the towel he had down behind the bar and moving towards her as she leant on the bartop. "You better not be here to cause trouble, woman." Simone smiled slightly in response.

"You are the fourth owner to say that to me today. I don't cause trouble, trouble follows me. I can't help it y'know?"

"Yeah well, either way you're bad for business. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Blake." the bartender shrugged, though she caught the slight flick of his eyes towards the end of the bar where a dark haired man sat. "Alright," she said adjusting the question. "I'm looking for a doctor, that might have had a patient come in a couple of hours ago with one of these-" she pulled a knife from her belt and set it on the bar top between them, fingers closed neatly around the hilt "-sticking out of his back." The owners eyes settled on the knife, and she noticed the shift in his Adam's apple as he swallowed. She could almost see the cogs working in his mind, debating how much loyalty he had to this one man and whether he wanted to test her reputation for getting what she wanted in the shadows. He finally looked back at her.

"Docs at the end of the bar. Look, any trouble-"

"And I will cover the cost." His lips tightened and he gave a curt nod. Simone inclined her head and moved down the bar, the smell of death sticks wafting from the doctor as she approached. Knife sliding back into its sheath, she tugged out her cigarettes, popping on into her mouth she leaned on the bar next to him.

"Got a light?"

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Smirking as the voice drew from thin air, Declan took a long drag from the death stick. Even his stunted and rejected senses, dulled by drugs in the 'sticks and the burn of liquor, could practically feel danger screaming. That scream is what kept him alive in war, and what he used now to pursue his, hopefully soon, demise. An agile gesture and an old antique flint and fluid lighter flicked out, a steady flame smelling of crude lighter fluid popping from it. As she recognized the device, the cap clicked with a heavy click of durasteel and bronzium. Away it went, the crest of his old paratrooper Unit for the Republic barely being seen. The smirk drew to a downright devious and almost arrogant grin.

"Mmmm, I believe that is what is in my pocket, yeah. So I have one. Don't you have a bar to be dancing on, pinky?"

The smirk did not touch the eyes as he set the death-stick in the ash-try and turned to face her, meeting gaze for gaze. Still, the heavy glass in one hand, taking a long sip of it. This wasn't a patient, and to him wasn't anything. So the nerf herder would come out to play. Because frankly, had no friends to call on him and wasn't fond of Zeltrons. Usually, they just wanted to be paid for their charms, which had worn thin for him long ago. Eyes that sank in perpetually shadowed and bagged sockets seem to be dull and lifeless, and almost begging for her to react. Either she would beat him, and he would finally be at peace and the nightmares could stop. Or she would play it safe and a deal would be brokered for whatever she wanted, or he would fill her full of slug-shot and leave her out in the back alley. Any of the ways it played out, he got what he wanted. Peace and quiet.

"Now, you don't need my scalpel. And I don't treat STD's in my clinic here. So what do you need?"

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

Simone took a breath and counted slowly to ten in her head, turning to lean her back against the bar as she did, she fished her own lighter outside of an inside jacket pocket, eyes sweeping across the other patrons. So the doctor was an nerf herder, wonderful. Just what she needed after her day, she could handle this in one of two ways; flip out, break his nose take her knife from his boot and shove it where the sun didn't shine, an appealing image that brought the shadow of a smile to her face as she took a long drag from the cigarette. Alternatively, she could play nice. Enemies were plentiful and she didn't need to make one of a doctor, no matter how much he wanted her to.

She exhaled a long thin stream of smoke. "I'm going to ignore the slander against my sex and race, on the grounds that I've had a long fething day, my knuckles are still sore form the last chithead and good doctors willing to treat scumbags in a place like this are few and far between." Her icy gaze swung back to look at him. "I want two things from you. The first, is the other one of these-" she tapped the hilt of the knife at her hip, eyes indicating to the hilt sticking from the sheath in his boot. "The second is the man you removed it from."

She flicked away the ash and took another drag, not taking her eyes off him. He had a look about him, like a man waiting for death to come knocking, preferably in a violent fashion. Not because he wanted to go down in a fight, but because the collection of death sticks in the ashtray in front of him said a quiet death didn't want to come for him, and he didn't have the courage to do it himself. How the hell did someone with his trade wind up scraping the bottom of the barrel in a place like this?

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

So she had enough sense to not immediately fly to violence. That was rare with these up-jumped street rats playing at crime lording. Her stance showed ease, not bravado or brash swagger. So what she said was likely every ounce the truth, even if she did harden the edge of her voice a bit to try and appear intimidating. Taking a moment to plainly look her up and down in a weighing fashion that lacked anything approaching the usual appraising looks she likely got from various other species and life-forms. Silently he shook his head and the knife flicked out of his boot, spun flat on his palm for a moment, then was offered hilt first to the saucy infochant in front of him.

"It's a nice enough knife, but if I wanted you dead I would just take my coach gun and make enough of a mess of your innards that not even I would be able to fix you. And i'm a damn good surgeon. Best that this planet ever trained."

Turning his head, he picked up a 'stick, his lack of concern to her exuding danger etched in the slack of his jaw. The heavy lighter came out, clinking up with a scraping thunk of metallics. The smell of crude fuel wafted, flame kissing the tip, and in a long drag the weary saw-bones was wreathed in smoke of blue-grey, making the haunt of his eyes look even deeper and hollowed out. A scraping, hissing click signaled the close of the lighter, and the good doctor took a moment to swill the swill in his glass before nodding to Simone.

"As for the one I took it from, frankly dear if you think i'm violating privacy of a physician with his patient... Kill me now, or rough me up or whatever. I won't be. I'm happy to discuss nearly anything but that subject. He's been stabilized and is currently being passed through couriers with local scum. Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't. I don't even know the name of the Rodian who picked him up. What's a matter, the boy stand you up for a drink?"

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

Simone accepted the knife without a second glance, sliding back into her sheath. "I'm sure you could, sunshine." she replied with an almost bored tone. Anyone could fire a gun, unless you were sniping as far as Simone was concerned it required little skill. She wasn't about to voice that opinion though, let the man have his little moment to talk himself up. They all needed it now and then. She took a long moment to form a response to his second statement, eyes back on the rest of the bar assessing the patrons, wondering if she'd waltzed into a trap without realising and if the Black Suns were waiting for the opportune moment...did she recognise some of their faces?

Served her right for letting her emotions runs her day. "I'm not normally one for killing or roughing anyone up unless the situation demands it. Which it doesn't. Your patients injuries were a result of him betraying me. His intelligence on a job cost the lives of ten of my men. Good men too, not the schuttas you find crawling in low life dens like this. Underground agents, some with families. I don't like telling eight year old children that their dad's not coming home because some chithead got greedy and has been playing me from the word go."

She took another long drag of the cigarette, eyes downcast for a moment catching movement out of the corner of her eye a ripple of tension running through the patrons. The knife began to twirl in her hand and she gave a small shake of her head, and an mirthless chuckle, before looking up. "I really fething hope they paid you well for the shit that you're about to get caught up in, Doc." One of the patrons had risen, a bothan male making a very poor job of trying not to look at her directly, his hand moving to the holster at his hip.

"Because unless you tell me how I can find Blake, I'm not going to pay you either. I'd fetch that gun of yours if I were you." The knife came to an abrupt halt as Simone, flicked the cigarette at the bothans feet. He came to an abrupt halt, looked at it and then at her, hesitant. "What's the matter, furball?" the earned her a growl, and the blaster came up with it. Simone was already moving, hand catching his wrist and forcing the shot upwards while her knife made short work of his gut. She let him drop, wrenching the blaster from his hand as he fell and detaching the powerpack in one smooth motion before tossing it aside.

"You assholes really are hell bent on ruining my day." she stepped over the bothan who was groaning, arms clamped about his stomach, a pool of red spreading from beneath him. Free hand flipping a table that she dropped behind as the shock wore off and blaster bolts began to fly.

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJlN9jdQFSc​

The bantering turned to chaos as the bar erupted into violence. It had happened once to him since he left the military, and he hadn't liked it then. Truth was, he hated the violence and bloodshed his profession required to stay alive. A man needed a cause to fight for if a war was to have any purpose. And he just had not ever yet found such a cause in the intervening years. However the need for one's own life to remain in good condition was more than adequate motivation even for his jaded and cynical views. As the bolts began firing, he spun to the right and slipped under the durasteel bar, the perfect coward's way out. Moments passed in infinitely drawn out time until there came a whine from the bar and he stood with a highly modified scattergun gripped in his right hand, a small hold-out blaster in the other, and returned fire with a throaty whoop.

The "coach gun" bucked and roared, spitting light and sound and fury into the offending party's without discrimination. The hold-out blaster seemed to fire slow, concentrated, and accurate. Swiftly he leapt the bar, keeping up a barrage. Civilians fled, and a handful of mercenary types dropped as the surgeon waded forward towards them. As if in some HoloNet drama, bolts of red and blue seemed to just peel from him somehow, missing by centimeters, and his face didn't flinch, his eyes steely. Truth was that no one without a death wish did something this karked up. But he had a deathwish, a yearning to cease to be. And in his mind, this was a fine way to go out if need be. He'd fight against an ignoble death, but this made his blood sing for a moment. Until the scattergun ran dry just as the hold-out blaster was dropped from overheating.

There he stood, face to face with a scarred trandoshan that looked like he either frequented GenHancing shops, or that he had wookie ancestry in his bloodline somewhere. With a shrug, Declan threw the empty scattergun at the lizard like face and used the surprise jerk of it's head to rear back and slam his own skull right into the things nose with all the force he could muster. He also subsequently brought his own foot down on the middle-toe of the thing and then rammed the same legs' knee into it's groin before stumbling backwards with a free-flowing river of crimson sweeping out his now broken nose, eyes watered in tears, and very little idea what to do next as apparently the noise near the front-door indicated someone had friends incoming.

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

Simone's body was tingling with adrenaline, face set in a grim expression. Today was not her day, but she could make it work in her favour. That was what she did, what she had always done. The Doc see there attention as he rose from behind the bar guns blazing and with a look about him that made Simone shiver.

She didn't ponder on It, using his barrage of fire to move out from behind the table, a quick glance towards the doctor and one knife flew from her hand past his head and slamming into the eye of someone aiming to flank him. A slug thrower swing for a point blank to the face shot, Simone jerked her head aside at the last second, the shot deafening her. She drew a crimson line across his throat, the gurgling lost amid the cacophony of blaster fire. She snatched the gun from his loosed fingers, dropping another mercenary with a poor shot.

Pain exploded across her shoulder, the bolt spinning her. She snarled as she hit the floor and crawled for cover. "Stupid, motherfething, chitheads." She took a breath gritting her teeth against the pain before tightening her grip on the slug thrower and rising again. The weapon bucked in her grip. But it was no longer her and the Doc shooting.

A handful of mercs had piled in the front door, judging by their gear and movements they were ex military moving with deadly precision to finish the fight.

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The tight, concentrated blaster fire that came through the door shredded the trandoshan. Nondescript humanoids in regular clothing, armorweave or bits of duraplast or steel plating could be seen cunningly disguised. Well worn and cared blasters barked in unison, and eventually fell silent. The group began moving forward, clearly rolling and searching the bodies for intel. As well as confiscating anything of vague value or use from the fresh corpses. Turning, Declan noted the zeltron, and the wound. Like a bloodhound on a scent he roughly hauled her up, and with a touch of pity in the eyes slapped her onto a barstool.

"Sit. Don't move. It'll be over in a second."

Skilled hands ripped clothing and cleared the wound, and a critical eye assessed it. Almost without thought, a spray wand in hand. [member="Simone"] would feel the pain suddenly sharply decrease, but not actually be gone.

"Numbing agent. You need to feel the pain so you know how much you can do on it. The effects will last for six hours, maybe.I'm going to hit it with a high dose concentration of bacta, a field antibiotic, and then a bacta patch over top. It's just a flesh wound, if a solid hit. I'll give you a few patches to rotate out on. I assume you can manage pain and keep it clean?"

All of this was said in sequence with the actual application of the devices or medications, and in short order, a plasti-bag was turned over with supplies, as he was sealing a webbing harness he had removed from under his coat and putting it back on. A harness that, apparently, held a small ambulance worth of miniaturized surgical equipment and field medic supplies. No thanks was said, but the curt nod and absolute omission of payment made it clear that, in his mind, they were equal.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you about your associate. I have rules, and I honestly couldn't even if I wanted to. But I can introduce you to the folks who run the network I use and see if they care to tell you. I treat anyone, regardless of morality or money. Not on any one side, because frankly no one is on mine. And don't worry about the new arrivals... Old friends I signaled as soon as you approached. Call it a hunch."

 

[Simone]

Simone was glaring over his shoulder as he spoke and treated her wound simultaneously, she wasn't glaring at anything in particular as she watched the Doc's associates check over the bodies. "Show's over." she muttered, the recording device at her ear clicked an acknowledgement shutting down the holo-recorder. "This isn't my first rodeo, Doc." she said snapping her eyes to meet his as he questioned her ability to keep the wound sterile. She rolled the shoulder testing its mobility before slipping off the stool with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah yeah, I get it. Doesn't matter what someone does with their life, its still a life to save. Everyone has their codes." she moved to the bothan that had fallen first, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession. "Was a good hunch." she replied, studying the bothan for a long moment watching his fear filled eyes as they flickered from one person to the next. "I should have you seen them coming." She crouched at the bothans' side. "Hey, look at me." he words were soft. "Relax, you've nothing left to fear from us. Breath easy...that's it." She took his hand, not because she felt anything for him, but because she knew death was close and he was in pain and that was her doing. She stayed there until the light faded from his eyes, till the hand in hers went slack.

She reached up to close his empty eyes before getting to her feet and moving to the bar. The barkeep was only just emerging looking horrified at the scene before him. Simone rumgaed in her pocket, laying cred chits on the bar. "One for your trouble, two for the mess, three for drinks for everyone here and four for you to hold back whatever stream of insults you've got lining up in the brain of yours." His open mouth snapped shut and he moved to gather glasses and something worth drinking.

She turned her attention back to the Doc. "We've missed a crucial step in this mess." She extended her hand. "I'm Simone."

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

He chuckled at her talk of a life to save. She thought overly much of his moral character if that was how she saw him. And had obviously missed the rather nasty and efficient fusillade of fire from earlier. The only limitation on that had been an attempt to not involve civilians and bystanders. Still, he reached his hand up and shook hers, he had been kneeling by the Bothan. Death of consciousness and death of the mind were different. No need to let any linger. He dropped the empty cartridge from his auto-jector and smiled, as close to genuine a one as he ever got.

"Suppose we did. I'm Declan. And not nearly so noble as you think. It's just a job. People are hurt. I fix them, if I feel like it. In the case of this Bothan, I gave him a calmer death and flooded his mind with crude compounds similar to old opiates. His consciousness to interact was gone, but he still felt things. The brain lingers for a few. This way, it's quicker, and he feels less. Poor sod was following orders is all. And I know what that is like."

Turning, he indicated the downed men, and one man talking to the bartender. A heavily scarred human with a crude cybernetic eye.

"Donte, see a small stipend to their families, if they have any. Offer a burial. Nothing much, but more than a paupers ceremony. If they are of means, just bring the body home. If they have no one, you know that too. The quicker things are buried, less of a trail to follow, eh?"

Another 'stick was lit, and he took a heavy drag as he gazed around, and stooped to pick up his gun, and pocket the little hold-out from before. As well as wipe his face clean of blood.

"So, here we are in the belly of the beast, acting as if the light of the stars were in our eyes, eh? What next? If you want to kill me still, just do it now and be over with it."

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

Simone let out a small chuckle. "I never had any intention of killing you, Declan. I just wanted to plug a leak. Even if your network can find out where he's been taken, chances are it'll be too late now." She rested her elbows on the bar pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes for a moment. She had to let her anger go, following the trail would only get more people killed. No, she had to make some calls, move some bodies and to new pasture too. Blake knew too much, old safe houses wouldn't be secure.

She pulled a data pad from the inside of her jacket, finger dancing deftly across it to compose a message, encrypted to flash across all underground channels on Denon.

'Drip will become a flood. Dark light inbound. Flight.'

"I appreciate your help, by the way." she nodded to Declan's comrades, tucking the pad away away. "If you'e a place to lay low, I'd go if I were you. More will come." she swung her gaze to the barkeep. "Tell them the truth when they come, comply with everything and they should leave you and your bar intact. As for you," she swung to look at Declan, pausing for a moment to consider him.

"Pack up. You've got," she glanced at the chronometer on her wrist "Five minutes. Then I've some house calls to make if you don't mind joining me."

[member="Declan Ross"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

There were some overtures of his own, checking ferrymen and safehouses nearby to see if any would give up this informant. He normally wouldn't. Ever. But the woman had not hesitated when the chips were down against him. She could have ran to save her own skin. Would have been much easier. But she had stayed and even returned fire. So he grabbed a protein bar from the absurdly deep pockets of his peacoat (no wonder the thing seemed weighted and didn't move much to the casual observer), and bit off an end of one, shaking it to [member="Simone"] to offer her one. As he chewed, he took time in the bar mirror to clean his face, and think about what she had said.

"House calls? I don't normally make them. But I should get out of here for a few days anyhow. You and I can discuss the nature of these house calls while we do that, eh?"

Taking another bite, he ground out the half-smoked 'stick in an ashtray and slid his harness tight, adjusting the peacoat over it, and nodded. Once again, he looked like a slightly shabby, just scraping by nobody. He nodded to the zeltron and gestured as if for her to lead.

"Just none of your people's famed wiles, got it? I don't need any of that y'see."

[member="Simone"]

 

[Simone]

Simone shook her head at the offer of the protein bar, accepting a drink from the bartender and draining it easily before moving away to collect her spent knives. Tugging a cloth from her pocket and wiping the blades clean she slotted them methodically back into their sheaths, her expression darkening as she did. Blake knew most of her informants within a ten block radius, she'd need to check in on them. She could find herself walking into more gunfire, burnt out buildings or just a bunch of bewildered people. Having the Doctor there served a couple of purposes, the first and foremost being he could treat any injured people. The less important but still comforting reason was that someone would have her back.

Simone didn't trust easily, but he'd not hesitated to fight with her. The Suns were here for her and her alone and he'd made himself a target by fighting with her. "If this is as bad as i suspect it might be, there's a handful of people i'm not connected to electronically that will need warning, assuming of course, Blake's not spilled the beans on them yet...or worse, turned them on me too."

She turned towards the door when his last words made her stop in her tracks and she turned slowly to look back at him, a weary look in her eye. "That's your last free racist remark, Doctor. I'll drop you for the next one."

[member="Declan Ross"]