Private Under Jolly Roger

[Persephone Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
​

Adjusting the backpack against her back better, she took a deep breath. After escaping from the art gallery, a public transport had led her to Corellia which then led her to hopping aboard a much shadier transport service to this unknown shadowport on Kothlis. Persephone was certain it had a name but the documents she literally received were labeled 'shadowport unknown' so perhaps it wasn't important as others? She was unsure of the rules and regulations regarding shadowports. It was her first time ever one, greeted by a holo of a dancing woman, an advert for a nightclub found in the port.

A sense of unease fell over her. Stomach twisting in knots. Who knew if the information received by the private investigator was correct? Not to mention, did she still have the street smarts she had a year plus ago? It was like bringing in a loth-cat, one who got chubby and comfortable and lost some of the skills of being outdoors on their own. There had been no nerves when she left Taris and found her way to the other branch of the Dashiells. Now? It felt like she was going to vomit with each step she took.

[ Miss Persephone this is unwise. ]

Of course she was unable to shake Zee. That was fine - people looked at her less traveling with a droid, believe it or not. Seemed to keep a number of the crazies away. Or at least at bay ever so slightly.

"I have to know Zee. Myra and Makky - they don't understand. Plus, it isn't like I could invite this guy to Joiol for dinner. You think that would fly?"

[ Perhaps. Did you ask them? ]

"No. Doesn't matter. We're close to getting answers. Questions Mama didn't even want to answer. Maybe 'cause she didn't know either."

Looking about, she turned the corner to head to docking bay eight-three-six-one. She recognized it from the holos the investigator sent over. Apparently Ezekiel Dashiell was here often, in the same bay often. It was going to be a crap shoot if he was in his usual spot, but it was all she had.

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

Ezekiel Dashiell lounged atop a stack of crates, one boot braced against the side, the other dangling loose. In one hand, he swirled a glass of something amber-colored, the ice inside long since melted. It wasn't good -- hells, it barely qualified as alcohol but it was wet, and in a place like this, that was good enough.

The docking bay smelled like scorched wiring and cheap coolant, with a hint of something fried wafting in from the open market just beyond.

Outside the bay, the usual scum and cast-offs moved about -- the kind of folk who weren't worth remembering until they made themselves a problem. A pair of Nikto were arguing over a busted speeder, some Weequay was passed out near a stack of stolen crates, and a group of pirates; probably Black Sun affiliates, judging by the insignias lazily scratched into their leathers, were deep in a game of sabacc at a makeshift table, their laughter sharp-edged and mean.

Then came the droid.

Ezekiel spotted it immediately-- too shiny, too damn clean to be anywhere near a place like this. Most droids that wandered through the port were patched together with mismatched plating and held together by a prayer and someone's last credit. But this one? Looked like it had been buffed before stepping off the ship. Maybe even perfumed.

The girl behind it barely registered at first. She walked like she didn't want to be noticed but had no real practice in making that happen.

Ezekiel took a slow sip from his glass, letting the lukewarm burn slide down his throat as he watched them approach. The droid, weirdly enough, seemed to have more confidence than the girl.

"Well, now," he drawled, shifting just enough to tip his glass toward the droid. "Ain't every day I see a droid that hasn't been picked apart for scrap in a place like this. You sure you got the right port, shiny?"

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Well, now," he drawled, shifting just enough to tip his glass toward the droid. "Ain't every day I see a droid that hasn't been picked apart for scrap in a place like this. You sure you got the right port, shiny?"

The voice reached her ears just as she was trying to ensure she was at docking bay eight-three-six-one. The bay was correct, a vessel in its berth. Near that vessel a dark haired man sitting on crates, drinking an amber swill. The face was familiar. The beard. The scraggly hair. The lack of fashion sense overall. Yet she didn't believe it.

Instead, silently, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the holo the private investigator had supplied. Unfolding the holo she held it up, looking between the holo and the man sitting on the crates.

[ My optical sensors indicate the holo and the sentient in front of us are the same being. ]

Emboldened, that was all she needed to hear. There was the sound of stomping combat boots and the smooth movement of servos as Zee struggled to keep up with his ward. The droid had never seen her move so quickly, his vocabulator couldn't even issue a word of warning.

In no time Persie was face-to-face with the man she suspected was her father. Shaking like a leaf, a finger poked into his chest, feeling rage and disbelief rising up inside her. How could he abandon her and just sit so comfortably? Abandon Mama?

"YOU!" Another strong poke. "You gotta lot to explain."

Ezekiel Dashiell

 

[Ezekiel Dashiell]

Unknown Shadowport - Kothlis
Persephone Dashiell

The swill in Zeke's glass barely qualified as alcohol, but it was wet, and in a backwater like this, that was good enough. He swirled it lazily, watching the girl.

Wonder how much her clothes fetched? He was one to enjoy the finer things when he could get his hands on it, and he recognized the fabric. Oh this girl didn't belong here at all.

As he mused, he didn't move. Didn't even let his expression shift. He just watched as the girl came to a sudden stop, digging something out of her pocket. She unfolded it, held it up, and --

Ah.

Well, that explains a few things.

He could see the moment she decided. The way her fingers tightened around the holo, the way her stance shifted from uncertain to locked-in.

Then she moved.

Boots hitting duracrete, stomped out with a purpose that made the droid flinch as it scrambled to keep up.

Ezekiel exhaled through his nose. This oughta be interesting.

Before he could even put his glass down, she was there, right in front of him, jabbing a finger into his chest like she had every right in the world to be doing it.

"YOU!"

Another poke. Harder.

"You gotta lot to explain."

Ezekiel blinked. Took his time about it. Then, moving at the exact pace that would annoy her the most, he lifted his glass and took a slow sip -- Made a face. Still terrible.

"Well, ain't this somethin'," he drawled, finally looking her over proper.

"Y'know, most folks lead with 'hello.' But I gotta say, this is a helluva way to introduce yourself, kid."

 

[Persephone Dashiell]

"Hello?! HELLO?" Disbelief crept into her voice. "I'm thinkin' its you that owes me a hello first."

Persephone wasn't sure what had taken over her. In her mind she expected to be cool, calm, and collected. Yet when she saw his stupid face something inside her snapped. Hurt, rage, and disappointment were all bubbling towards the surface in one swift motion. She couldn't put a finger on if it was his overly calm attitude enraging her or the entire existence of the man.

"You run off leavin' my Mama swollen like a tick with me without so much a goodbye or contact and yous is expectin' common courtesy? I ain't got much of that left to give."

Still seeing red, her speech patterns had retuned and somewhere out in the universe her tutor surely cringed. Her finger still poked into the pirates chest, pushing against the fabric, jabbing every so often with a more emphatic word. Upset as she was, Persephone couldn't lose sight of what she came for.

Answers.

"How come you ain't never come and seen me? I ain't good enough for yous?"

Ezekiel Dashiell