The Sut smelling air, the screams of someone getting stabbed over a very lenient price, the other sounds of another stranger getting blasted for his rather snazzy boots, and all the chaos in-between. Classic hallmarks of one of Nar Shadda's premier market-bazaar experiences, the destination of which Ruckus found himself shuffling through one sunless mega-metropolitan afternoon, dark circles under his despondent eyes and a holopad with a shopping list in his left hand.
He'd pause for a moment to kneel, loot the blasted man's gloves with a thankful nod, and thank the Force that his boots were not as snazzy, lest he might've been blasted instead. Though much to the disdain of his hole-filled sut decorated stompers, he was not out shopping for new shoes.
Instead, he was out shopping for the things that would put holes in that man's stolen snazzy boots, though that was probably an understatement; for the kinds of frag bombs, explosives, trip wires, and other sorts of combustive goods that he was looking for would just as easily put a hole in just about anything or anyone. Some careless blaster-slinger had set off the explosives and traps he routinely rigged around his Sith Cult's hideout by accident, and so alas the Sith sent him to fetch some new explosives at set it all up again after they had gone and relocated to somewhere that wasn't marked by a considerable explosion.
Without giving him any credits to do so. What a pain in the Pazaak.
Apparently it was some sort of Sith Trial on his end, to steal a bunch of explosive munitions and trap material like the Sith Maurader he was, and while it was such a drag to go through the effort of robbing such a store, he couldn't help but hold respect for the idea behind the trial. Not the actual "Go kill things and harness your anger into a weapon of the Sith" deal, but it was an incredibly efficient mindset to budget credits. After all, why should they have to go through the trouble of supplying their errands with credits when they could just as easily steal it and have it match with the whole Sith doctrine?
In truth he didn't really mind, he loved being a bad-ass red saber slinging Sith of the Dark Side of the Force, and it made him stand up a whole lot straighter when he strutted into a back-alley shop at the far end of the Bazaar so appropriately labeled "Things that go boom."
straight to the point and just what he was looking for.
His entrance caught the attention of one wiry Saphire tinted Twi'lek decorated in explosive and burn scars, idly wiping some variant of explosive dust off the counter with a three fingered right hand, of which Ruckus offered a hesitant, albeit polite wave to.
"H-hello. . . L-Looking for trip wires, f-frag mines and g-grenades. . . a-and uh, b-by any chance ,d-do you have any . . Flashbangs?"
Twi'lek paused for a moment, lifting up his dark tinted anti-explosive tinker goggles to offer Ruckus an unamused a blank stare before gesturing silently with said goggles to a corner to the right named "TRAPS" and leaving it at that. Ruckus nodded once or twice to himself as he shimmied on over to look at the corner. Conveniently, it had just about everything he was looking for - except for the frag mines and grenades, of which were conveniently secured behind a . . frustratingly thick looking cabinet, the one the Twi'lek was wiping off.
Ruckus took in a deep breath, grabbed a handful of flashbangs and trip wires, and shimmied on over to the clerk, of which had politely cleaned up the desk for such an exchange. He set them down with an exaggerated omph. . . making sure to keep one in his hand as he looked to the Twi'Lek with a sadly held brow.
"What's the uh . . . d-damage, f-for these. . ?"
The clerk sighed and began clanking in numbers to his register before lazily responding after a short moment of thought.
"One thousand two hundred thirty five credits. . " He'd respondent with an appropriately gruff Nar Shaddaa accent.
Well, that was one thousand two hundred thirty five credits that Ruckus have. So, he did what any sensible Sith would do. In a quick flash of nervous force, he channeled his most righteous anger at such an egregious price, reached out his left hand to yank the thick and tinted goggles the Twi'lek had idly danging in his left hand - of which they flew into his own with a satisfying thumph!
The Twi'lek looked at him with raised brows and no words, and without wasting a moment's notice, moved to employ the quick and practical Nar Shadda anti-theft technique. To shoot the guy full of blaster holes, with his blaster - Only when he moved to lock his aim on Ruckus's face, he had his newly procured goggles over his dark circled eyes . . . and he had taken the polite liberty of returning the man's last flashbang to him to complete such a reasonable exchange. Only difference was the missing safety pin.
There was first violently bright flash, a deafening boom that left a ringing in everyone's ears, and as whomever was affected by the flashbang finally came to their senses - or whomever saw the incident go down from a distance and came to investigate. . They would find a headless Twi'lek with a sizzled shut neck, and Ruckus frantically stuffing his satchel with all the frag grenades and mines it could fit from the counter he had delicately sliced the top off with his Red Lightsaber - along with the previous tripwires and flashbangs. Like a little sacred school boy stealing candy from his grandfather's cookie jar, the wildest and most terrified grins on his face.