Thus did the Blue Devil scream

[Neroba The Hutt]

Down this low you just didn't know what was going to happen. Bad things, bad vibes. It was palpable in the very recycled air you breathed. Paranoia and danger seemed to just loom over and oppress every inch of this place. Higher up, in the crime laden sectors of the Smuggler's Moon, of Nar Shaddaa, they told stories of this Undercity. Rarely did any of those drunken Spacer tales end with 'And they all returned to their favorite, seedy Cantina dive and celebrated with spice and hard liquor forever after.'

Perhaps [member="Thraxis"] would find it curious then, that it was to that forgotten, feral haunt that he had been summoned to.

Spoiler: A Matchbook

A matchbook had been passed to him from some nameless intermediary, a nod exchanged. The book was plain, powder blue, the inside flap had a time written. The scratch was clearly Huttese, here on the Moon of the Jewel that wasn't very strange though. In fact outside of the obvious tourist spots and cantinas where pretender bad boys try desperately to impress curvaceous femme fatales, the Hutt language is more widely spoken than Basic.

The instruction was plain, no further direction needed. This was Neroba's way of first testing Thraxis' Underworld merit. He'd gave this man, a man that he had heard through various wires was a master Torturer, a time, a precise time he expected him to arrive no later than. More vaguely he'd given him the location.

Blue Devil Cocktails, an old Cabaret that had the prestige of once being considered the sleaziest spot in the entire planet-spanning city. The sex, drugs and violence that occurred there was the stuff of veritable legend. Now it was little more than a battered and falling down drug den, another relic of urban decay. Neroba Ujiliic Xelurc however saw potential, he let his cruelty do the talking, and the strung out dregs that had been claiming it as their own recognized the error of their ways, and abandoned it to it's rightful owner.

For now at least.

Getting to the Blue Devil was no easy feat however. Murderers and all manner of crazies roamed the streets, attacking any and all they thought they could roll over on. If Thraxis could make it, this potential relationship would continue. If he couldn't, Neroba the Hutt had no use of him. The clock was ticking, he had but three hours.

 

[Acaleus Thorn]

"Venus do you copy?" "Nice and easy with my coffe mug and comfy pijamas in the safety of the ship on the atmosphere roger" told the pilot of his AT-360. Acaleus was walking on the low districts of Nar Shadda, with dark smoke in the air that smelled like gasoline. He wore his assassin clothes, trying to look the most deadly as he could. There were a lot of movement, as you could find very unfriendly faces. It was late at night as you could find drunks everywhere, some couples kissing here or there "Maybe they are with hookers" and bars with one or two security. All armed although they were trying to cover unsuccessfully their weapons. At least for Acaleus.

"Tell me the rendezvous point" "Inside an old bar. I investigated the data of the planet, and it didnt say the name of the place" "Keep me updated" a hole gang talking on the outside. The mission he was hired for was return a eighteen daughter that ran away from home for a fight with her parents. She didnt came back after leaving home, one day later, he took a call from the dad, a richman that was going to pay well. The girl had a tracker on his wrist and her last location was inside the bar.

Just a block away, he sighed gang members outside the main entrance. It wouldnt be difficult to deal with a hole group but the kidnapper would notice and have a chance to run away "Dammit" he said looking around for other way to enter the bar. Some ventilation system or exit for the staff.

[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Thraxis]

A note was given to him, directed for the Blue Devil Cocktail, a familiar name. One he use to visit a while ago when he was bored. The crazies, degenerates, the sheer amount of lowlifes that ran around were immense. It was where he would go to, back before he had a personal den of Torture Victims. The language was one he was all to familiar. The symbols and lettering reminded him of Huttese, could he read it? No. But that didn't mean that the Holonet couldn't translate.

After a few minutes of booting up his holonet and typing in the words he had a time. He yelled into the Pitt to get the second in Command. A Gammorean, his stature was quite large, especially when compared to a Gammorean, his voice sounded as if it had been rubbed up against sand, his teeth and Horns Torn out and replaced with Metallic replicas. All where Thraxis doing in a way to show his dominance to the other members of the Pitt. One that worked like a charm.

"Okay. So I will be gone for a while. Someone wanted to meet me on the Smugglers Moon. In the meantime, you are taking the helm." he said with a flourish of his trenchcoat as he made his way to one of the Ships. After a few minutes he had a pilot and were set on course for the Smugglers moon. He knew how degenerate the people their were so he didn't pack light. Hidden beneath his Trenchcoat was his Personalized Armor, equipped to a belt were three guns, his Twins, between them was his Noise Maker. Finally strapped to his back was his DEMP, his Paralysis gun to deal with both droids and Biological alike.

After an hour of travel he was above his location, quite literally above the Cantina, his ship slightly hovering above as the hangar door opened, it had not made any sort of contact with the ground and was at least thirty feet from the ground. Then a black sight fell out, its body limp as it fell feet first towards the ground. In a few feet of the ground, a light, a burst of heat expelled from the his feet, the limp body straightening up, drops of alcohol fell to the ground in little bulbs of brown. A thud was audible once it touched the dirt, the body flinging around as it walked into the Catina. A chuckle was heard as Thraxis muttered, "Damn. I do love the theatrics."

The doors slid open as Thraxis moved towards the Bar Keep. "Hey. Two things I need you to do for me. First, fill this Vial up with the Blue Devil Cocktail." he politely asked as he moved the vial towards he man, his other hand rummaging through his trenchcoat to pull out the matchbox he was sent. "Next I want to see the man who sent me this." This time. It was a demand.
[member="Acaleus Thorn"] [member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

"No man, I'm 'fraid there pateesaa" Said the worn and weathered barman, beneath the dark grime that incrusted his sunken features and the unwashed, oily strands of graying hair, one could not even say with full certainty which species this down-and-outer was. "Mah bukee, he a Hutt. . . cha loca. Mah Lorda say him Kajidii." A bottle, nearly empty emerged from behind the heavily bruised and punished counter, what splendor this establishment had once held, it certainly had long since fleeted.

Nothing a degree of care and sum of credits couldn't remedy though, after all, the Galactic Underworld was built on and around reputations. This place had one, so it was not out of the question for it to rise again. Walls clobbered, lights flickering, or simply void of illumination entirely. Holes in the ceiling, and entire panel sections collapsed in to the messy piles of debris that littered the floor. Not to mention the strung out patrons that cluttered equally depressing tables and booths. The majority lost to the land of Nod, swaying precariously in some warm fantasy of a better life as their favorite blend of Spice pumped through their veins. . . upon closer inspection one would notice a few were even pale as death, overdoses happen.

Even the Blue Devil Cocktail, the potent, mildly hallucinogenic drink that had been front-and-center to so many of the wild tales, and spun yarns of carnal, mind-shattering debauchery wasn't even the vivid deep shade it used to be. No, this mournful excuse for a cheap imitation looked as hopeless as the rest of the establishment, slate grey in color and reeking of turpentine. . . ok. . so it'd require a lot of care and a large sum of credits to buff this place back up.

"Cha. . cha loca, bona nai kachu. The kitchen, him take three sleemos there." The man concluded, digging blackened, dirty fingernails across his scalp furiously. Raking away the itch of countless marauding lice, "Gaggalak mursto! Leave me!" He howled, talking to himself.

[member="Thraxis"]

 

[Thraxis]

An eye raised Thraxis looked the Barkeep up and down, then his eyes bounced around the rest of the building., out of his trenchcoat his hand slithered in, pulling out a a thousand Credit. "Let's make a deal. You take me to the Hutt. And consider this a bribe." It was a blunt and direct approach to get Thraxis where he needed to be. He wanted to know why someone directed him to this bar and why then needed him within a few hours.

If the man accepted the bribe he would follow with due haste, his eyes scanning any man who walked within shoulder length of his body, his hand ready to pounce onto one o his guns and cause a spray of blood to remain in where said men would have been standing.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"] [member="Acaleus Thorn"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

No need to even broach that proposition a second time, at this level of the city, for a thousand credits, these outcasts would commit to anything. Moral fiber was nonexistent, if they couldn't snort it, shoot it, kark it or kill it. They didn't want to know about it. With a light flickering above them as they neared a pair of push doors, the man, his head twitching with a frequent, nervous tick. Lead [member="Thraxis"] from the front of the establishment all the way in to the back kitchen area.

Three individuals sat back here in the wide scullery, limbs bound secure, white human flesh beaten pulp and bloody. It was a man, woman and what must have been their child.

"Dopo mee Huttese, Thraxis?" A voice, deep of texture and unmistakable in tone questioned.

It was surreal, in some way. Dirty old kitchen, prisoners bound and beaten. Then across the room, under a fluorescent lamp a Hutt. Not the largest Hutt, by far. In fact he appeared quite small in comparison to most of his species. But to see one in this setting, not in the throne room of some Palace, or behind an Army of loyal guards. Very rare indeed. Neroba would let this lesser being stare in wonder of him for a moment longer, as he continued the frightening process of grinding the edge of his Fillet Knife to pristine sharpness, deliberately overemphasizing each stroke of of the blade against the sharpener. Of course, anyone in the Underworld knew it was best to allow Hutt's to bask in their feelings of grandeur, whether true or false.

Now, if the alleged Master Torturer could speak his language, that would be shocking.

 

[Thraxis]

As he wandered through the kitchen he made light of the people being abused, he had seen it all before in the Pitt, though if he was in charge a bit more finesse would have been taken. He moved up to the child, a slick smile spreading out, his voice quieting down as he looked at the kid with false tenuity. "Don't worry. It will all be over soon." he whispered into the kids ear as he continued to follow the ancient being through the kitchen.

He entered the room with bouncing eyes, always observing, making sure he wasn't about to be ambushed at a moments notice. A voice registered as he looked towards the Hutt. The way it looked he was gazing on a young Hutt, they tended to be ambitious and over stepped their bounds more often then not. As he listened he looked back towards the frail man, "Okay. I need you to translate." he whispered as he slipped into one of his weathered pockets another thousand credits. "What I need you to tell him is Sup." a short word it may be, but it tended to break the ice and establish an air of informality between the two. It was best to not let the Hutt think he was superior to Thraxis, because with their cocky attitude they will run a mile with it.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

"I can speak the primate tongue," Neroba interjected, applying a gentle display of weight on the tip of the Fillet Knife, curving the blade with a subtle bend before easing back. "Rid us of your presence, Shag!" the heavily accented Basic Speech of the Hutt cut as sharply as his scalpel-edged instrument was about to. Shag of course the Huttese word for Slave, which is what he regarded this Barkeep as.

"Tagwa, Lorda!!" He bellowed, not even attempting to take the kind gesture of credits [member="Thraxis"] was about to offer him for translation services.

"You are wondering, I do not have doubt, as to why you are here?" The young Hutt probed, urging his bulk a few pushes to his right, where resting on a several unfolded print pages of the Smuggler's Evening Gazette, a beautiful Corellian Yellow-Fin Tuna was waiting for him.

Neroba was quick with the blade, deep angle in at the collar, cutting with unmatched, surgical precision down around the pectoral fins, then back up, curving around the collar once again all the way down to the spinal column before gracefully mirroring the action on the opposite side of the once living creature.

 

[Thraxis]

"Well. There are a few reasons you would contact me. The first is you want me to deal with those outback." he responded as his hand motioned to those outback in the kitchen. His hand moved into his trenchcoat, pulling out another vial of alcohol. His wrapping around the cork with a slight twist as the cork gently moved out of its container. His hand pulled back as the liquor quickly drained from the vial slipping down his throat gently. After a few seconds of constant drinking his head slowly turned back towards the Hutt.

"The next one is you need a mercenary. I notice the lack of any guards around here other then the worker out the front. And assuming that the lot in front of the bar were your workers then you need at least someone with a bit more firepower and skill. Something I can offer." he said as the vial emptied its contents, a thick musk of alcohol slithered its way out of its glass container, before the cork sealed it again and was returned back into his trenchcoat.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

Perceptive, Neroba liked this. But no true Hutt spoke of their Operation with those outside of their inner-circle, least of all did they ever breathe the syllables of their full name, or the name of their Kajidic. To do so there was no greater crime in their culture. Your Kajidic was your life, your entire reason for living, your legacy. The reason their species had persisted after their near extinction, the only thing that had made them not only rival the Gods, but become greater than them.

"You are [member="Thraxis"], I am Neroba." He informed simply, continuing to display only the back of his body to the man. A mind game as old as time. "It is correct, as you say." The Hutt had switched to a firmer knife now, he had began cutting effortlessly through the skin along the upper spinal column of the fish. "Do you know of cooking?" The Kajidii of Ujiliic maneuvered their conversation. Young as he may have been, he had a very odd and opposing demeanor. Not bullish, not outwardly aggressive. Cool, calculated and filled with undertones of the patented Hutt ego, but not overtly so.

His grip on the blade had changed to a true Butchers Hold, applying more torque in his incision as he sliced through both the skin and the loin before, after setting his cutting instrument down, he removed the entire slab of fish he had just made. The flesh and bones of this particular breed displaying a deep, wonderful, rich sugar plum purple color.

"Inkabunga, tagwa?"

 

[Thraxis]

Thraxis noticed the game he was playing. Was it one where he was trying to seem superior, no it was never a purposeful thing the Hutts ever done. They were instinctual inclined to do it. But if someone wanted to feel superior to Thraxis it was of little consequence, the matter is if they were better then Thraxis. "I know of cooking. Do I know how to cook is a different matter and dependent on the situation." he retorted, his eyes growing a tad bored with the conversation.

"Now. Lets separate the cooking. I can cook a person from outside in, or vice versa. If you want me to cook that fish then no. I can make cereal." taking no point to hide the sarcasm, it was still young little power when compared to other Hutts and since Thraxis felt relaxed around Sempra he felt comfortable talking on even terms with this Hutt.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

"They have told me you are of a Torturing kind, " The Hutt continued, contributing no attention to the sarcasm this individual lashed out with. "Cooking, Butchering. . . it is a lot like Torture." Neroba informed of his belief, carefully rolling the Yellow-Fin Loin in paper. It wasn't for [member="Thraxis"], he had not yet earned such service. But he would be delivering it, and he would follow the instructions he'd receive once he did so. But that was a different test for a different time. For right now he was here, and he stood not before Sempra, he stood with Neroba.

Depositing his wrapped cut in to a refrigeration unit, the young Hutt finally came to face the individual that had been so highly recommended. His name was known out on the street, he had shown he had potential. Much like this place, Blue Devil Cocktails had potential. But there was disappointing marks against him as well. Neroba had a classic way of doing business, after all, he got his start to life growing up in a Shadowport City. The ability to verbally joust and spar and schmooze was the sign of a professional.

"Cut wrong, over cook, too generous with the seasoning. . . it destroys your dish. Destroys the quality." His right eye, and much of the right side of his face and body were heavily scarred. He'd maybe share the story one day, but not now. For now it only gave a gruesome factor of intimidation to his visage. One he liked to take full advantage of while he still could, for he knew in time, as years would pass, his eye would fully heal and the scars would fade. Such was the power of regeneration that the Hutts possessed. "It is indeed a process like fine art, a labor of your love, Thraxis. The process must be done with passion. It must be of your heart, yes?"

The Fillet Knife Neroba had originally been sharpening came to rest edge-wise on the mans cheek. The blade stunk of fish, and had been placed slowly, deliberately. Not in a manner that announced an outright threat. Hutts and their mind games, Thraxis was right, it was in fact a trait that the entire species possessed.

"That Shag out there has information, information that I want. There is a group of Fringe Miners that have struck Aurodium veins five times on Varl recently, he knows of who they are, he may even know by which process they have found themselves so lucky by. This is your test, Thraxis, I want you to show me your art." The blade vanished from his cheek without leaving a single mark, the handle instead found itself now moved in to his palm, a gesture of budding trust.

"The cheeka is his wife, the peedunkee his boy. I want you to start with her, cut her ugly flesh off. Make certain she feels every slice of this blade. Then we will move on." Neroba said authoritatively.

 

[Acaleus Thorn]

Knocking up a waiter that went out for smoking a cigarette and taking his clothes was easy. After dropping his body in a garbage with ropes in his hands, Acaleus entered the bar, with his assassin clothes under some black pants and shirt. It make him look fat, but it would work. The bar looked like it had better days "Now where is she..." "HEY! We need you to deliver this cocktail to that sir" said a bartender to him, delivering to his hand a glass with the alcoholic drink. It took him by surprise but he reacted quick "Alright" said turning to a guy sitting in a bar "Here you go sir"

"Yo Acaleus?" "Tell me" he whispered through his ear radio "The tracker says that you are ten meters away. To your right" "Gotcha" The problem was that six meters away was a door. A VIP room for the ones who could afford to rent it, most used by crime lords. He knew this remembering his slave days, when his master went to places like this to get wasted and find women. The only thing that separated him from taking the girl back was two armed guards with blasters on the waist. But thats why he got his lightsabers, he needed a distraction.

Through the other room of the bar, he saw a shelf with glass bottles "Breath. Exhale" he meditated, using the force to push down the shelf, making enough noise to get everyones attention. When the guards looked up for what made the noise, Acaleus walked between them, making a quick stabb in the ribs. Before they fall to ground, he entered the VIP room. It was small with a couch, a fridge and a bed. The girl was knocked out in the sofa while a twi´lek was lying in the bed with two girls. One minutes later, only the two girls were alive, but unconscious.

He left the room with the daughter in his shoulder "You are going to be alright" just a few bruises in his arms. It would be a lesson for the girl "Venus, drop the ship near, i want to get out" the exit wasnt too far away and he expected to not draw attention in his way out.

[member="Neroba the Hutt"] @Thraxis

 

[Thraxis]

"Well. You did hear right about me being the torturing kind. Like many you have also seen that I do it out of passion." As the Hutt approached him, it asserted his ideas. This was a young Hutt, articulate and young, common for his kind. He decided that if his face was to be shown his would need to be too. His hands moved towards his helmet, biting his lips to cause a slight tinge of blood to stain his otherwise white teeth. His eyes had no cornea, they where simply black bulbs between the whites of his eyes, his hair falling down in front of his face, hiding most of his facial features, other then his eyes and teeth. The only features he needed to shown.

The blade ran across his face, his pink skin pushing gently back from the pressure of steel as it slid across, "You keep making these fancy cooking metaphors. This inclines me to believe you want me to do something in a similar manner?" he uttered, he needed not to shout, the Hutt was within ear shot. "But here is the question that I now present to you. What do you have to offer me? I have all the booze I need in the White Palace. Credits has long since been a burden I threw away, the only other payment options would be prisoners for the Pitt. The Gammoreans tend to get bored without an ample supply." he continued to utter, not letting the Hutt get a word in, it seemed like the Hutt was trying to assert dominance over Thraxis, a mistake many had made and even fewer lived to regret. He moved slightly closer to the Hutt, his eyes looking directly into the Hutts own eyes, "And you seem to be out of Prisoners." a quick smile flashed over his face as his eyes started to become agitated, bouncing around trying to see everything they had already seen. Observing ever closer of the Hutts Physique, not a detail to be missed.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

"No credits have been offered to you." Neroba pointed out, a Cheshire grin curling wickedly over his scarred features. "Nor the privileged of alcohol." It had to be added. [member="Thraxis"] displayed a great deal of spine, Neroba liked this. Where others would bend to him just because of his species alone, this one seemed to want to defy. But there was a limit, it was rapidly approaching. He was not the Hutts of the Cartel, he was something else entirely. A rogue on the fringe. Majestic, unbreakable. Neroba would rise rapidly in this Underworld, he did not give second chances.

"A task was given to you, " He reminded of the words he had spoke just minutes earlier. All good stallions, after all, needed to be broken. "Do not confuse Neroba with a Hutt of Besadii, or Desilijic." The young Kajidii of Ujiliic did not give an inch, nor did he attempt to rearm himself. While his Huttling pigmentation and manner may have given away that he was not ancient, he was no less dangerous in combat. 2.1 Meters in size, 400 kilograms in weight and still growing.

"If you want to proceed, I have made you aware of what you must do." He pushed his Hutt bulk forward, they were now virtually touching each other. His instructions would not be repeated. "You will use that knife on me, or you will use it for me. The choice is of yours to make, Thraxis. Neroba does not play the Underworld, I am going to become the Underworld." Never even a break in his voice, would the professional criminal buy the hype?

 

[Thraxis]

"I do not care for the Underworld. I care for people to keep the Pitt fed. You can become the most powerful Hutt in the universe and I would care little. And like you said, you have given me a job. Now where I come from, a Job has payment at the end." his eyes focusing and staring into the Hutts own eyes. The young Hutt liked to play the power game, but Thraxis could escape this building quickly and easily and simply come back with a few ships and bombard the Devils Blue Cocktail, though if there was one thing going for this Hutt it would be it had big dreams, though then again. Most Hutts did.

"Now then. I will do the job. but we have one of two options. Either I do it your way and you tell me the payment. Or you don't and I get the information my way." his gaze narrowing down, he had played the Hutts game before, he played it with Sempra often and occasionally with the other Hutts that were in the White Palace. The Hutts new their place, they outranked him, but they new that Thraxis cared little for Ranks and would happily make some them disappear without hesitation.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Acaleus Thorn]

"Who are you...?" the daughter whispered with a tired voice as she awaked "I am..." a strong slap went into Acaleus cheek that make him lose his balance, dropping the girl "Who the hell are you! Help!" "Your name is Lucia, your dad hired me for...!" Too late as all the eyes in the bar was looking at him. the problem was that the girl realize too late. A couple of lowlife walked towards him "Venus i need you to bring the ship now!" "Hey! You back off" one Arkanian ordered showing off his blaster pistol, but he was too close to the assassin. A fast cut on the throat with his wrist lightsaber made him quiet

"Follow me now!" with one hand, he grabbed the arm of Lucia and force pulled the blaster with the other, shooting to the lights. The emergency ones would turn on in less than ten second but the chaos created with a killer roaming in the bar and the death bodies, created a window of opportunity for Acaleus to leave the bar "Yo, try to make a run for it. Im three blocks away, cant get much closer!" told his pilot through the radio

[member="Neroba the Hutt"] [member="Thraxis"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

Perhaps Neroba's first impression of this lower being was wrong. He cared little for the Underworld? But he wanted slaves to keep a Pitt fed? The Slaves, The Pitt, the jobs he undoubtedly participated in to satiate his coffers with the Credits he didn't need. They were all one in the same. You could not lead the life of a Criminal, claim fruit from her tree, then boast that you don't care and don't require that nourishment, that symbiotic life arrangement.

The Hutt of young years refused to budge, still. That grin never faded from his scarred and soft brown features. His eyelids lowered, slowly did they lower, a single blink over an orb of brilliant blue and a sickening pool of milky yellow. [member="Thraxis"] yearned for blood and bodies? Neroba could supply those. With the Ujiliic not even off the ground, not even providing profit, the Hutt already knew of a number of Slave Rings and Gladiator Services.

Cold may life under anothers shadow be, but warm and numerous were the rewards. Neroba would epitomize this.

Whatever it was Thraxis wanted, Neroba would be able to provide it in spades. If not now, in time. Cruel and unyielding this young Hutt would prove to be, but fair would he treat those below him. In addition, no matter the view on Credits Thraxis gazed, there would always be an ample return of them. No one could ever have too many Credits. Not until you could buy the entire Galactic Disc, eight times over, could you ever have too many. Then after that, it still wouldn't hurt to have enough on reserve to buy it again another sixteen times.

For now, Neroba would remain silent. His words had been chosen carefully, his intention made clear. He had provided Thraxis with a task, they could again talk on more equal grounds when and if he finished it. If he chose to leave, the growing Hutt would not stop him. But it could be an action that severs a lucrative relationship. And cost this man a whole lot of future work.

 

[Thraxis]

The Hutt had grown silent. A worrying sight for many, when a Hutt goes quiet it is never because they feel like they have lost. It is simply there to make themselves feel superior. With a raise of the eyebrow and a flick of his Trenchcoat he headed towards the Kitchen, paying little heed to the struggling and bludgeoned bodies of flesh. As he made his way there he started to mutter, loud enough that they could hear the words, "Salt the Wounds, strip the flesh." he said in a melodic way as he pulled out a cleaver from the kitchen.

His helmet still off his eyes started to move erratically, his hand twitching as he held the cleaver haphazardly between a finger and his thumb. "Now then. We can do this one of two ways. The way I enjoy, which will involve slowly cutting of slabs of meat from the little one. Or we can do it your way and you just tell me right off the bat and I take you away from here." his lips twitching as his eyes slowly rolled back. It looked as if he was in a state of utter bliss, truly hoping that they would simply try and act defiant.
[member="Neroba the Hutt"]

 

[Neroba The Hutt]

The woman, frail with fright, eyes bloodshot and face beaten in to sick discoloration whimpered a pitiful gasp. The young boy simply sat silent, his mind gone, the shock of the entire ordeal steeling his soul in to something not entirely unlike a Droid. Would this nightmare ever end? Not if the Hutt that slithered it's great bulk in to the doorway to have a closer watch on things had his way.

"T-tell you what. . my man? What do you want from us? I know nothing, I've never heard of this stuff the Hutt asks about. I swear it man, I swear. You has to believe me." The man falsely stated, the truth was he did know. But with such exuberant sums of money at stake he was not willing to just wash himself of the very real fortunes he and his family were standing to gain. A few bumps and bruises weren't the worst they had ever suffered out here in Hutt Space.

But, he did not know to which lengths Neroba was willing to take this. That would be his downfall. He indeed was not like other Hutts, he did not mind taking the long road towards his goals. The horror he would incite [member="Thraxis"] to inflict on these people would prove that, this entire situation, after all, was less about learning about this technique these Fringe Miners were using and more about witnessing how Thraxis handled himself.

Torture was easy, anyone, even a child could torture something or someone to great lengths of pain and suffering. It was about the fear you were able to instill with the process, about the art of your technique, the depth of your sadistic creativity. Neroba wanted to see Thraxis prolong this process, he wanted to see Thraxis unleash a gruesome masterpiece, if he managed to also extract the information the Hutt so desired. . . it would be highly impressive.

"Nothing. Nothing to tell you, my man. Them boys and me, we just lucky, guy. I swear it, right? Don't hurt my family, guy. They know nothing. We not even got the return yet, cool?"