What You Leave Behind

[Micah tol Powl]

THE PLANET
M I D V I N T E R
----------------------------

The homeworld of the Valkyri was the kind of planet that most could only dream of.

An escape from the rat race of Alderaan, Corellia, Coruscant, or Dosuum. A place where a man could get back to nature. Where technology was not pervasive to every facet of life the same way that it was in almost every other corner of the cosmos.

Midvinter was in the Outer Rim. The outer limits of the Outer Rim at that, beyond the Tingel Arm. Past the Mara-Perlemian Trade Corridor. The planet's long history with the Levantine Sanctum and the Silver Jedi had led to it being more frequented by spacers, traders, and other drifters among the stars. Invariably, that contact introduced new elements to the planet.

Crime was one. Not that Midvinter needed spacers for that. Crime was hardly imported here. The same ego and vice that powered so much criminal intent on every other planet was still present among the Valkyri. People wanted more out of life, and that avarice turned to vice.

Then along came a trader with an exotic invitation. The rest of the story was simple supply and demand.

And where there was demand, enterprising folks would find a means of supply. The pimps moved hookers. The dealers moved spice. A widowed, grav-ball mom behind on bills was the reigning whiff queen of Húsavik. The introduction of prescription painkillers into the local medicine practice had created pockets of ryll addicts that no one wanted to talk about in polite company.

In the schools, it started with the upperclassmen. A spice overdose. First one, then two. Then a student athlete collapsed during a track meet. That was when the attention got to be too much, and the dealers looked for markets elsewhere.

Which was when they'd introduced it to a middle school.

To be clear, these dealers were not the dregs of society or demon's in sheep's clothing. Jorah Norunner was an ordinary, run-of-the-mill upperclassman from Húsavik Village. His dad had died during the last rise of the Vinterbound, leaving behind a pregnant wife to bear their son in what passed as a Valkyri urban development project in which his fate seemed inextricably bound.

He'd never been in any serious trouble with the law and attended the religious observances with his mother. He made reasonable enough grades, but he wasn't university material. At best, he might hope for a trade school, but the writing was pretty much on the wall that he'd go to work in the local mine. Jorah wasn't a star athlete, but he rode the bench for varsity limmie and ran track and field. He was a triathlete of meager, if respectable, talent and had gotten hooked on spice as a way of putting himself in 'the zone.'

He got reduced rates from his dealer, Mathus, if he ran some 'errands.' Working for Mathus meant becoming a middle man. Mathus provided the supply and Jorah helped with marketing, passing the word, distributing, and collecting the money for Mathus as they passed the spice around the school. Then, when the school had started cracking down, Jorah had found that his younger cousin was a gateway to a market of kids who could raid their mother's purses for credits.

One of those kids had been Fabian Juliard. At twelve, he was interested in girls and Endormon Go. His one mistake was that Jorah Norunner's cousin was his best friend. Now, Fabian had never done anything like this before, but agreed to try it with a friend during a sleepover truth-and-dare that had ended with one kid headed to Juvenile Hall and the other to the morgue. And Jorah? Well, his cousin wasn't talking and the local Sector Rangers didn't have anything more than suspicion to connect the spice back to Jorah.

By the time that the Dawnguard had gotten wind of what was happening in Húsavik, the Pantoran had arrived to discover one kid dead and the other taking the heat out of some misplaced loyalty to the same family that had hooked him on drugs and used him to peddle death to younglings.

For what it was worth, Jorah had apologized... before the end.

By the time the Sector Rangers had gotten together all of the information that they needed, and headed out to the trailer park on the lower east side where Jorah Norunner lived, the call had already come in of a possible suicide at that address. Jorah had hung himself with a length of rusted wrought iron chain. None of the rangers had ever seen its like before.

The curious thing was, no one could tell just how Jorah had gotten himself up the tree like that. But there wasn't signs of a struggle and the rangers didn't see a reason to chase that tangent when the medical examiner was going to rule it a suicide anyway.

See you in Hell, Jorah.

The slow, cold rage of the Dark Side rolled from off the young Pantoran's small form as the youth casually strolled up the loading ramp inside of the Equinox. Sometime, many hours later, the Sector Rangers or the Dawnguard were going to discover Mathus -- Jorah's supplier -- face down in a ditch. Another apparent suicide.

Mathus had given up some names before their conversation had ended. Names, and the scant details that he had on the spice distribution network that was helping sow corruption underneath the watchful gaze of the Dawnguard.

With only circumstantial evidence and suspicion, neither the Dawnguard nor the Sector Rangers would have legal justification for bringing down the criminals and kingpins that were feeding their spice into the schools and playgrounds of planets through every Rim. And Boo knew that he couldn't ask the Heavenshields to get their hands dirty.

What Boo respected about the Heavenshields is that they managed to do what needed to be done without resorting to getting their hands dirty.

But Boo wasn't a Heavenshield, except in name only.

And after today, it wasn't a name he deserved to carry.

THE PLANET
L A E K I A
----------------------------

Mark didn't have any names.

At least, not the names of any people. He did have one thing, the Star of Lowbacca. It was a freighter registered out of the Wheel, but it made port at Lakia.

The name on the registry was Quasar Logistics. Like a lot of credit laundering operations, it was incorporated out of Nar Shaddaa. The financial underpinnings were almost identical to those that [member="Sempra the Hutt"] had set up for the boy's Plutonia Courier Services front that serviced to launder the credits he'd made as an assassin.

The Star of Lowbacca was on a fairly predictable circuit. It departed Laekia for the Mara-Perlemian Trade Corridor, where it stopped briefly at Midvinter -- ostensibly for some of the ore that the Valkyri mined. In reality, that where the spice was being off-loaded. Mathus would take possession and then turn it out to his network to handle the marketing and distribution. From Midvinter, it would pass through Sith territory before returning to Laekia.

Tommee used to work on the docks. Union had been on strike, so he was down on his luck. It was tough. Gina was working a diner all day just so that their on-again-off-again-call-me-maybe relationship was even semi-functional. The rent was late. They were behind on bills. But his buddy Jed had told him about this job. It seemed simple enough. Load the boxes on the ship.

What was in the boxes? Tommee didn't know, didn't care, and didn't ask.

The docking bay was unusually cold today. Turning his collar up at the cold, Tommee rubbed his hands together for warmth and then started rummaging through his coat for a cigarette and a lighter. Placing the cigarette in his lips, the young man started to bring the lighter up toward his face when he heard...

...something.

Something hit the ground?

Tommee turned to see Gibs and Kedge on the ground. Pools of blood were beginning to form underneath them. But what really got his attention was Jeb.

Jeb was hanging by the neck, suspended in the air by this big-ass snake from Hell, which was coiled around one of the cargo block chains. Jeb was struggling, writhing and jerking as the black serpent just stared down at Tommee with cold, dead eyes.

The cigarette flew out of Tommee's mouth. As the man blinked, a pale, blue hand snatched the cigarette from right out of the air. It was a youngling. A blue one. Wroonian. Whatever.

Kid was an honest to feth ghost. Tommee swore that the kid came out of nowhere. He also had a blaster in one hand. A smoking blaster.

That was about the time that Tommee finally put two-and-two together. "Look, man, don't kill me," Tommee stammered, putting his hands up and starting to take a step back.

He backed right into one of the containers that they had been waiting to load. The sensation made him jump out of his skin. A dark stain spread across the front of his trousers.

"Got a light?"

The blue kid put the cigarette in his mouth, holding it between his lips as he casually walked over toward Tommee. The man squeezed his eyes shut as the boy reached a hand out toward him...

...then realized that the kid was moving past him, to touch the container behind him. There was a snap-hiss as the locks were disengaged, before the lid went flying off as though the kid had some super strength or some insane chit like that.

And there, packed in dry ice, was spice.

A lot of spice.

Should Tommee have known that's what it was? He'd kinda figured it out. It was the only thing that made sense about why they did things the way that they did. But he didn't ask, so he couldn't say that he really knew... right?

"Light?"

Tommee seemed confused for a moment, then began rummaging through his pockets as he tried to remember what he'd done with the lighter. "Oh... oh, right," he stammered, finally coming up with it and holding it out for the boy to take.

Taking the lighter in one hand, the kid seemed to play it back-and-forth between his fingers as he turned his amber eyes up at the man.

Cold, dead eyes. Like the eyes of the snake.

The sound of something hitting the ground took Tommee's attention away. Jeb was on the ground.

Jeb was dead.

They were all dead.

"So who pays you?"

Terror seemed to take his voice away. Tears started running down his face as the man turned and looked at the blue-skinned demon that was standing there. "Look... look, man, we don't know names," Tommee managed to stutter finally. "They pay ingots. Like, real cash, man. All under the tables. So... so I don't know nothing," he managed, before stammering more as he tried to protest, "Just, please... please don't..."

Tommee hit the ground. A glowing, ember red circle burned through the center of his forehead.

Tucking the blaster pistol into the soft holster at his waist, the young Pantoran casually flicked open the lighter and brought it up to the cigarette in his lips. Taking a slow drag, the child fiddled with the lighter in his hands as he stared down at the bricks of spice down in the open container.

Then his eyes trailed up to the warehouse that lay beyond.

He'd started down this rabbit hole. Now it was time to see just how deep this abyss would go.

THE PLANET
C O R U S C A N T
----------------------------

The trick to all of this was to follow the money.

Passing through the alleyway, the young Pantoran casually lifted a flimsiplast box from out of a dumpster as he passed it by. Emerging from out of the shadows and onto the street, the boy held the corrugated material out as he looked it over. It seemed serviceable enough. Flattened, it folded out to a narrow box a little more than a meter long.

At the end of the block, he stopped at a flower stall.

Balagoth's balls, what a rip off. Fifty credits for a half-dozen Ithorian roses. What the chit. Seriously? Maybe he needed to stop being an assassin. Florist was obviously where the credits were.

He was stuffing the bouquet of pretty weeds into the box as he headed into the luxury condominiums across the boulevard. Swanky place, too. Overlooking the millennial memorial park, panoramic views of the city, and easy access to the spaceport. Not to mention Qui-Gonn's on 37th, which was a restaurant up in the skybox. Black tie. Reservations booked out four-to-six months in advance.

Yokai and the Zygerrians was playing in the lift. Thirty-eighth floor. Suite 3800. A penthouse.

The lift paused to announce him. It was a moment before a gurgling, weary and possibly still intoxicated voice answered the announcer. "Who is it?"

"Plutonia Courier Services," the child supplied brightly. The oblong box was stuffed under one arm as he looked up to flash a smile into the visual sensor up in the corner of the lift.

What can blue do for you, fether?

It was a moment before the lift proceeded on, arriving at the floor as the doors opened out onto the private suite that stretched the width of the whole gorram building. Transparisteel glimmered like walls of aurodium in the sunlight which spread throughout the expansive penthouse with views on either side.

He made it two steps off the lift before he was greeted by a wall of hung-over flesh in a hastily donned bathrobe, a five o'clock shadow, and breath that was 100 proof Corellian whisky. "Harum Callain?"

The hung over hulk gave a grunt in reply. Now, the Pantoran could barely speak Standard, so he was hardly an omniglot or master of the spoken word... but he thought that was nerf herder for hello. Or, yes, in this case.

"Package for you," the youngling supplied, pausing as he reached into his back pocket to produce a datapad. "Sign here, please."

"I didn't order anything..." the man murmured, snatching the datapad from out of the boy's hands. Taking the stylus from out of the side, the man blinked and seemed to struggle to see straight as he went to sign his name.

Then the stylus dropped from out of his hand.

Choking, gagging, gurgling, the man was beginning to turn a brilliant shade of purple-red. The datapad fell to the floor, the the man grasped at this throat with both hands.

The young Pantoran merely stood there, coldly observing. One hand was cradled in a vice-like grip, as the Dark Side rolled from off his small form with every fiber of his being. "You've got a little project going out of the docking bays," the boy uttered quietly, as the man sank to his knees, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"I want to hear all about it."

[member="Abaigeal E'ron"]​

 

[Abaigeal E'ron]

The credits had been worth it, the address of Harum Callian, one of the main linchpins in the Tears, had checked out. The Soup Kitchen had been watching Harum from a rented room in a building across from the penthouse. It had been over a month already, they had noted all his movements, contacts, meetings and security and listening into his communications provided addresses of some of their warehouses and future movements of drugs, off planet as well as flooding the levels. It had been very fruitful, a list of names and operations, from the bottom to the top of Tears ‘management’.

But the immediate concern was that the streets of level 1313 and others would be swimming in the stuff. It was an attempt by the Tears to pull power from the Claws a bold move on their part but with this much drugs hitting the streets, it had a high percentage of success. The Soup Kitchen had to move, to stop this from happening and give the Tears even more power and make their job even harder than it already was.

Abaigeal listened to the constant feed from the penthouse, Harum had been out to it since he arrived home from where he gets his kicks from, he had dismissed the girls that had been entertaining him for the night and took his time with the morning. It was hard watching the holodisplay running images from the hidden devices in the penthouse, who wants to watch that sack of flesh bathing, let along what he deems as ‘entertainment’.

She zipped up the side of her dress, and checked her pinned up hair, makeup was perfect. Abaigeal clipped in the earrings, a lot of bling to set off the look of a wealthy business woman, which had been ‘borrowed’ from an expensive jewellery shop. Later to be sold for food and provisions to the people in the lower levels.

Their meeting to scheduled to take place in fifteen minutes.

Abaigeal gathered her long fur coat, checked the inside pocket for her blaster, it was only a precaution as she had other means to deal with the likes of Callain. She pulled the coat around her shoulders and headed for the door her mind focused on playing the part and completing the mission. As she pulled the door closed behind her, the holodisplay in the rented room showed the doors of the elevator opening and a young boy of blue, stepping into the penthouse.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]​

 

[Micah tol Powl]

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

Many years ago, a promising Imperial Cadet had been tasked to conduct an interrogation on a Toydarian in orbit of Anoat.

With the traditional mind probe being out of the question, the aspirant known as Chiyo Ren had, instead, used the Force to torture and torment the Toydarian, constantly dangling him over the precipice of death until the Toydarian had, at long last, given up the location of a rebel base at Ison.

Despite their reputation, it was the Primeval that had taught the boy about subtlety. The methods of the First Order and their Knights of Ren had been blunt and brutal. But also effective.

Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling underneath where the man hung upside down in mid-air. It was snowing inside of the opulent condo, the temperature plunging to the freezing point as the Dark Side rolled from off the boy's small form. Black veins spiderwebbed underneath the cold, bluish skin as the Sithspawn gave himself over to the terentatek venom running in his blood. Black tears of Dark Side poison slipped like oil down the sides of his face, as his eyes seemed to become shimmering pools of pitch.

The shadow extending from out of the small form was that of a monstrous rancor, an otherworldly rumble resonating through the Force.

Once upon a time, he had tried to be a hero. Tried to be more like his hero. Tried to be more like [member="Théodred Heavenshield"].

He wasn't.

He wasn't Théodred. He wasn't good like Théo was. He wasn't good for Théo, even though Théo had been the best thing that had ever happened for him.

One moment. One triumph. One mistake. One person saved. One minor injury.

The poison had spread, become part of him. Instead of becoming what he could have been, the Pantoran had become stuck in what he really was. A monster -- even before a terentatek had managed to scratch his hand.

It had only been about 10 minutes and, already, Callum was starting to lose his sanity. Two hundred bones in the human body. One by one, the boy would select one. Crushed. Broken. Shattered. The jagged, sharp pieces shifted around inside the humors of the body. Cutting sinew and flesh from the inside out.

When he had been new to the Knights of Ren technique, his victim's screams would have echoed through a star destroyer. Now, a more experienced executioner, he knew how to seize the diaphragm and lungs to steal the voice away. Instead of wails, it was softly whispered whimpers. Quiet sobs of terror as the man's sense of reality and self was broken.

The resistance to the mind probe fell away. Leaning in close, a hand hovering just an inch away from the man's face, the monstrous spectre of the child who had been Boo Chiyo peeled apart the layers of Callum's mind as though he were pulling apart a hunk of bread.

Like an iceberg, criminal organizations were often larger beneath the surface than what the eye, alone, could see. The dealer on the street had led him to a supplier. That supplier had led the boy to his supplier, which had led him to the warehouse, which had led him to the freighter. Which had brought him here. To Coruscant. To Callum.

It was in Callum's mind that the Sithspawn caught a glimpse of what was waiting, underneath the surface...

A soft, quivering whimper escaped from Callum's lips. The man's body seemed to convulse through a series of painful spasms as his muscles starts to seize. His organs were shutting down.

There was a time that Boo could have made one of these torture sessions last for a day. Or more. As he felt Callum's life start to slip away, it occurred to the boy that he was, perhaps, out of practice.

The Silver Jedi, Iron Legion, or the Dawnguard had never asked him to do this. They never would have asked him to do this. This was the antithesis of everything that they stood for.

Two fingers gently pushed Callum's lips closed. "Shhh," the boy uttered quietly. In his mind's eye, the child could see the darkness closing in around the man as he fought and struggled in vain against the life leaving his body.

It was not a pretty sight.

It never was.

A presence in the Force.

The boy's head turned. His eyes scanned the floor, ceiling, and walls behind finally settling on a spot behind him. The elevator.

Someone was coming.

Behind him, the elevator gave a chime as the doors prepared to open...

[member="Abaigeal E'ron"]​

 

[Abaigeal E'ron]

The higher the elevator took her, the stronger the feeling. That gut-wrenching feeling, she had known it before, been it before, is it.

It was the dark side and it was coming from the penthouse. This was most unexpected, what was Callum doing? It was not documented he was a force user, let alone surrounded by the stench of Sith spawn. It was too late to turn back, the elevator had reached the penthouse level, she pulled off her fur, her shoes ready for whatever faced her once the doors opened.

But her blaster was in hand, primed.

Abaigeal knew her presence was felt, by someone something in the room, it was not a known aura but there was conflict within the presence for whatever reason. She did not care for the reasons at this point. The elevator doors slide open, her arms already raised barrel seeking a target and before her, to her surprise was a boy. Callum suspended in the air, racked with pain and plenty of injuries. And his life seeping away.

She did not feel any sympathy for the gluttonous man.

Slowly she stepped off the elevator, her eyes never leaving the boy, “Who are you?”, she asked with a controlled low voice. The darkside of the force came from the boy. He was thick with the poison of it, yet there was a presence of something else. An influence of light that maybe even he did not realise existed within him.

“I see you have some pressing business with Callum here … So do I”, she walked sideways slowly placing one foot behind the other. Throughout her journey through the galaxy, Abaigeal learned that just because a child stands before you, does not mean they are incapable of killing. And she would not hesitate to pull the trigger if it came to defending herself or the lives of those dear to her.

Looks can be deceiving.

Whatever this kid was about to throw at her, she was ready, the force had been summon and filled her entirely. He would recognise it, there was no light in Abaigeal.

Not today.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]​

 

[Micah tol Powl]

He saw the fur fall from around the woman, as she emerged from out of the elevator with a blaster at the ready.

A vibroblade was plucked from out of a sheath on his thigh, the lightweight dagger spinning in the boy's grasp as he took a few steps away from Callum. His movements predatory. Calculated. He was trying to evaluate the threat.

The Force was with her, whoever she was. The Pantoran would have liked to have had either Azi or his lightsaber, but neither had been suitable for a trip to Coruscant. A lightsaber in the streets of Coruscant was the quickest way to attract all the wrong kinds of attention. And an amphistaff wasn't the kind of creature at home in an urban jungle. Blasters made people ask questions. Brought up old debates about blaster control laws. But a vibroblade? Not much anyone could say about one of those.

“Who are you?”

Amber eyes stood out peered out from behind the black marked blue flesh. The blade flashed as the boy spun it again, as though weighing his words. "I'm no one," he stated finally.

“I see you have some pressing business with Callum here … So do I.”

The blade twirled a third time. The boy's head kicked to one side as he merely answered, "All yours." With his free hand, the most casual of motions was made, as a product of which Callum was thrown down at the woman's feet.

As that happened, the boy took two steps back and then started to step around the other way. The Force was subtly warped around him. If she took her attention from off him for just a moment, he could try to cloak himself in a Force Shadow. Perhaps disappear. Give himself space in which to try and decipher just how far this rabbit hole traveled...

...and who the bloody hell was this chick?

[member="Abaigeal E'ron"]​

 

[Abaigeal E'ron]

The body of Callum fell to the floor in a whimper before her feet. She could already feel his life force slipping from him, and she was not about to try and stop it. What she required was in his desk, and this turn of events had aided that, took out the obstacle that she would have to manipulate to achieve her mission. It was a good turn of events from a certain point of view.

Her immediate concern was this boy. Although deep down she knew he was not here for her.

Abaigeal did not relish the idea of turning out like Callum on the floor here. It did not escape her that the possibility of this ‘meeting’ might stem from the want of the same thing between them but also it could not. That was the point that she made her stand ready for anything and her eyes did not leave the young boy. Callum wasn’t going anywhere.

The mirrored the boy’s movements, leaving the body writhing on the floor moaning in pain, until she stood by the desk. “Seems to me your business with him is not completed. If you are here regarding his ‘other’ line of business”. Although Abaigeal did not take her eyes off the boy, she slowly lowered her blaster in a show of good faith. Besides, if the kid thought to get some sort of plea for the man’s life, he would be incorrection in that assumption.

“May I make a suggestion? Give him a taste of what it feels like to have his blood burn through him like his ‘product’ does to others .. destroying them”. With that, she dropped her gaze and if the boy vanished in the force so be it, she would finish his work if necessary. “But make is quick, we will need to get out of here, before someone misses the sack of rubbish”.

Out of her pocket she retrieved a small stick and began to scroll through the files on the computer to the list of suppliers and anything that would help with the next incoming supply of merchandise set for the streets of Coruscant. It would take several minutes before she had what she wanted.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]​

 

[Micah tol Powl]

His business?

A violet eyebrow arched in thinly veiled skepticism as the woman seemed to make assumptions regarding his motivations. She kept her attention on him, preventing him from slipping away in a Force Shadow. Keeping that irritation in check, the boy maintained a neutral facade as he nonchalantly answered, "And I supposed you're... what? His competitor? Maybe the local police vice unit?"

She'd lowered the blaster. The vibroblade twirled in the boy's hand for another moment, then returned to the sheath on his thigh. He wasn't certain just what the lady was playing at, but if this was supposed to be some kind of show of trust then he'd play along for the sake of appearances.

When she'd suggested that he poison Callum, now it was the boy's turn to focus on her rather than the twitching body on the floor. Truthfully, Boo doubted poison would even have any effect at this point. Callum's grip on sanity was tenuous at best. The organs beginning to shut down, the body had gone into shock. It was unlikely that Callum was going to feel anything at this point.

"I think he's had enough," the boy uttered in the same neutral and detached tone of voice.

She was reviewing some kind of list. "If you're looking for his supplier, it's Docking Bay Seven Five Nine," the boy offered. It was a warehouse address that he'd seen in Callum's mind. It hadn't been the Pantoran's next step, but it had been a point of interest for him. Without knowing just what this woman's role was, it seemed a rather low risk thing to toss it out there and see what she might do with it.

[member="Abaigeal E'ron"]​

 

[Abaigeal E'ron]

Interesting.

After what she had seen this young boy do to Callum, he suddenly had a moment of compassion for the man? After the pain and torture he had put him through? Well she had not expected that reply. Whatever the boy’s business was here with him it appeared to have been concluded. However, not for her.

Her eyes flicked to him for a moment leaving the screen, “In a way I suppose I am his competitor. But not in the way you think”, she was no dealer but if someone was out to stop them, then she supposed that was opposition. “And I am no cop”. When it came to the law authorities of Coruscant, whatever name they called themselves as there seemed to be a growing number of them, corruption was rife and the Soup Kitchen was being watched of late. Mostly by Corsec, but ‘corruption’ went both ways sometimes, Soup Kitchen informants.

Abaigeal located the file she wanted, read the number of the warehouse just as the boy voiced it, the same number. And more besides, there were more warehouses due for delivers. Best not to put all your eggs in one basket as they say.

“You seem to have an investment in all this”, she nodded toward the body on the floor, “More to it I think, because you would not go to all this trouble for information if there was not a bigger picture”, she pulled out the disk after completing the download. What was his plan? Steal the drugs and deal them himself? The boy had great ambition or there was something else motivating him.

It was time to leave, and moving out from behind the desk she pointed her blaster toward Callum’s head and pulled the trigger. Dead instantly, and there would be no apologies for it. “Insurance”, she said looking at the corpse, she wanted no chance in hell of him recovering to continue his work, it is one thing she had learned through life, never assume the impossible.

Abaigeal made her way to the elevator, she had already stayed too long. “I suggest you find a place to lay low for a while”. She picked up her coat from the floor, one last look to make sure she did not leave anything behind, apart from the boy. The sound of the elevator climbing to the penthouse grew louder and the chime for it arrive pinged.

“Coming?”.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]​

 

[Micah tol Powl]

The shot in the head was clean.

To be honest, Boo probably would have slit the man's throat. Knives had so much more of a personal touch. Blasters were so... impersonal. After all, something had to distinguish between assassination and murder. And the boy liked to think that something was the finesse with which the act was done.

No matter. Boo had the information that he had sought out Callum for. And Callum was now dead, which was the desired result. Those two things being accomplished, the boy was, indeed, ready to take his leave of this place.

That left the woman.

Amber eyes continued to regard her with suspicion. She wasn't the rival spice czar and she damn sure wasn't the cops. So what did that leave, exactly?

"Laying low's not really my style," the boy noted simply, moving cautiously to the woman's side as the lift arrived and the doors popped open.

"It was a long trip to Coruscant," the youth stated, as he stepped inside of the lift. Turning, he looked up at the woman as he added, "I'm sure there's a few more places for a tourist like me to visit."

[member="Abaigeal E'ron"]​

 

[Abaigeal E'ron]

"They will be looking for you kid", well they will be looking for both of them. She was quite prepared to let them come, but Abaigeal did not really like the idea of them finding the boy. She had to grin however, a tourist he most certainly was not.

"Not your style huh? .. Well, you could go to the zoo, or a theme park, I am sure there must be one on Coruscant". She looked him over, from head to toe.

"So you have come a long way just to ... do that?", she indicated to the doors of the elevator, not that Callum was on the other side. His clothes gave away the fact he was not 'local', nor was he a street kid, in fact there was something about the boy that whispered of something familiar. Looks can be deceiving, she knew that much and he had proven that moments ago in the room.

"Where did you come from?".

The elevator was approaching the ground floor and soon the two would go their separate ways. Although the young boy an aura of darkness surrounding him, there also was a touch of good, of light in fact, which intrigued her very much. Maybe that was what was familiar to her, it was hard to say, but one thing she did sense, he was running from something, or someone. And the weird things was, he was conflicted about it.

"Look .. if you do find yourself in a position where you need somewhere to go. Look for the Soup Kitchen on level 1313, and ask for Abbie". The doors opened and she stepped out before him. "Good working with you kid", she grinned.

[member="Boo Chiyo"]​