Ask [Estaria] A Star in the Air

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music IC

Spoiler

Estaria. The name sounded just so very starry when Baymon pronounced it in his head. A luscious word, like speaking a grape instead of eating it, or saying wine instead of sipping it. This warm afternoon, those stars twinkled somewhere above the blue sky and its white clouds, unseen but certainly there. Those clouds crawled across the sky a little quicker than usual, courtesy of the repulsorlift that gently glided through the air in between the skyscrapers of Estaria’s capital city. The vessel was shaped a bit like an archaic boat, one that you might expect to find floating on an ocean, only this one had quite a competent machine plastered beneath its belly; an engine that kept the boat in the air instead of crashing to the ground, never mind the sea.

Within it were three gentlemen, one lady and a host of dishes to dine on and drink to enjoy, from clams to spring rolls, sake to tea. Generally, Vennis was the kind of chef who catered to his customers by bringing his floating restaurant to them, setting up shop at their apartment window perhaps, sharing stories while the patron ate at leisure. Baymon, however, knew the stellar chef well enough to secure a private dining in the boat itself. The conversation was no less superb, as was the cuisine, and he had an aerial tour of the city to boot.

Today, he was joined by none other than Zenke, a trusted companion if ever there was one, along with the illustrious Pidgelle Batana, an accomplice who might yet become a companion to trust. They had endeavored in dealings before the one that they were about to dive into while they dined, and hopefully this would only be the beginning of more dealings to come. Baymon had personally invited his new would-be friend aboard the Eat Easy without much information up front. He had told her as much over the comcall, how he liked to keep the intel limited until it was time to meet face to face. This was the way.

He had requested that the Twi’lek park her vehicle in a starport. Some five minutes ago, it wasn’t a shuttle that had picked her up but Vennis’ floating restaurant. The Anzat was standing behind their table where they sat, cooking up something that smelled as delicious as Baymon’s quaint cup of hot sake tasted. With Zenke on one side of the table, Baymon looked at Pidgelle who sat across from him, with leisurely music in his ears from the chef’s stereo. Dressed in a tan suit, cream tie over white shirt, Baymon’s brown fedora was off his head and by his side, though he gazed out at his teal-skinned partner behind cognac aviator sunglasses, one leg crossed over the other.

“So, Pidgelle," He spoke while diverting his gaze to the world outside the repulsorlift. Against a golden-brown backdrop, where sunlight bounced off the buildings of durasteel and duracrete, the Eat Easy must have looked like a floating ruby from the outside. "How do you like the view?”


@Kestrel

 

[Pidge Batana]

Pidge had hopped on a ship to Estaria as soon as she had finished her conversation on the com with Baymon. She could feel her excitement bubbling up inside her like a carbonated beverage, about to spill over at any moment. She had only been to the outer rim once, and it was a less-than enjoyable ordeal involving a dry, gritty desert where she had almost lost her droid, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to get work done while exploring the vast galaxy. Hopefully without so much sand in her boots this time. Goodbye, Coruscant, Pidge thought giddily as she watched out of the viewport of her transport vessel. Her home planet was shrinking by the second as her great opportunities approached.

Glancing around, Pidge noticed no one else was quite as excited to be crammed three-across on the cheap flight. A few passengers dozed off, while others attempted to entertain themselves by watching podracing on the holonet. The woman next to Pidge seemed to be secreting some sort of milky liquid from her skin to keep herself moist. Pidge was suddenly very grateful that her species didn’t need to cover themselves in mystery bodily fluid just to survive. She scooted closer to the viewport and tried to redirect her attention. She considered her assignment. Baymon had told her very little about why he wanted her for whatever questionable project he was about to complete, but this was not unusual. Information about criminal activity was usually dished out on a need-to-now basis. At the moment, all she needed to now was that she was to arrive at the starport. He would pick her up there.

Given Pidge’s expectation of being picked up by a speeder and transported to some seedy alleyway to work out buisness, she was quite shocked when Baymon arrived on a beautiful crimson ship he seemed to have booked. The smells drifting from it were heavenly. Well, Baymon certainly likes some pizzazz. Pidge suddenly felt a bit underdressed in her travel shawl and simple tunic. At least the headpiece hugging her lekku was embroidered with Chromium colored thread. It provided a bit of dazzle.

As soon as she stepped on the floating restaurant, Pidge had been offered a drink And ushered to a seat. She took an herbal tea and dipped some fried biscuits in it. The ship had taken off and was now cruising among the skyscrapers. Before she could raise an eyebrow at Baymon to silently ask about the wonderful accommodations, he spoke up.

“So, Pidgelle. How do you like the view?” He was clearly quite pleased with himself, and Pidge didn’t blame him. The view was, in fact, marvelous. The food was scrumptious. She made sure to give a warm smile to Zenke, who was, as usual, brooding quietly before answering.

“Please, call me Pidge, and I must say, I don‘t believe I have seen a view this beautiful since I took a tour shuttle to Coruscant’s capital.” The sun was warm and bright and Pidge felt incredibly comfortable. “And although this meal is lovely, please tell me a bit more about the job you‘ve lined up. I must say, so far I’m enjoying it immensely.”

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music OOC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

Baymon smiled with a tilt of the head at the woman’s correction. He would oblige, if a tad reluctantly. “Forgive me. ‘Pidge’ it is, as you insist. Though, I do insist on how imperially classy ‘Pidgelle’ sounds, but we’ll leave that to the records!” For a moment, he watched Pidgelle with her tea and biscuits as though he were watching a ballet. There was a hard-to-place grace even in so simple of movements, and he had seen it when she had bopped her shoulders to the beats of Benno’s Cantina and moved to keep from getting beat by the cantina’s patron thugs. Deft hands. That’s what they are. The hands of a slicer.

“You see the city around this boat?” He looked to the towers that stood so tall. “Star City, capital of Estaria. A catchy name, to be sure, but no ecumenopolis like Coruscant.” He chuckled. “Funny word, ‘ecumenopolis’, though I suppose it is a funny galaxy we live in. Those who live in Star City certainly have their fill of laughter, but also their cries.” Is there a difference? Sometimes I forget.

His gaze swept back over Pidgelle. “To some people, laughs and cries are a currency of equal value. Namely, a Zabrak male named Hasho Zing’gett, if I’m butchering it correctly. Hasho is a debauched thug who fancies himself to be something of a prince of crime who assumes that all fiefs belong to him.” He shrugged. “The debauchery I can forgive—the arrogance I cannot; not when it costs me to lose labor in my own fiefs.”

The sake burned his throat as it slid down, coating it with the kind of alcoholic warmth that, well, only sake could do. “Thanks to a recent purchase of a datapad that looks as shiny as your headpiece, I was able to trail our Zabrak friend all the way to Estaria. Turns out that Hasho owns a public establishment in Star City that serves as a front for an underground flesh market, where he sells the cries of slaves so that others can buy their laughs and he can grow rich from both pain and pleasure.”

If Pidgelle were to look, she would see Zenke sitting back with an unsettled visage, like a man who who had just seen himself beaten, but Baymon did not need to look.

“You might be wondering if those slaves once belonged to me. In a sense, they did—as free workers, not as slaves. Hasho rolled over one of my transports and kidnapped who he didn’t kill, and I aim to take back what does not belong to him. That’s where you come in.”


@Kestrel

 

[Pidge Batana]

Pidge smirked at Baymon‘s comment about her name. Typically, her birth name irked her, but clearly Baymon saw it in a different light, which she appreciated. Still, she would rather be referred to by a name that evoked thoughts of a free flying bird than of skin cream. Looking up, Pidge saw a soaring creature, something she would never see on Coruscant, where the only ‘wildlife’ consisted of duracrete slugs and mutated, roaming gangs of anoobas. It occurred to her that she, too, was soaring high above the city, which was at the moment bathed in swathes of sunlight. It was beautiful and a touch quaint. Pidge let herself relax and sway to the music coming from the ship. Remembering the eventful night at Benno’s, Pidge decided to, if whoever the captain was was taking requests, request a slow, jazzy, saxophone song. Maybe that would put a smile on Baymon’s suddenly shadowed face.

Just as she was about to prompt the man sitting opposite her to share his clearly troubling thoughts so she might sooth them, he began to speak. First about the city, but then about something else... something that didn’t change no matter how far away Pidge got from the duracrete jungle of Coruscant. She could feel her heart sink as he continued, detailing what was clearly a slave trade of sorts. This man, Hasho Zing’gett... No. Man was too high of a compliment for this being... this creature. This creature had taken some of Baymon’s workers to sell, and now they had to get them back. Zenke shifted uncomfortably in Pidge’s peripheral vision. She sat in silence for a second. The entire atmosphere had changed.

“I see, and take my deepest of apologies,” started Pidge. “I am willing to help wherever I can. The cruelty of some still astonishes me. I say this as a scoundrel, but no one can stoop lower than selling others simply for their own benefit. Such a person takes the life of all those he sells without laying a finger on them.“

The thought made Pidge sick. She suddenly had no desire to finish her tea. Baymon seemed to be all too enthusiastic to down his alcohol.

It snuck up on her before she could repress the thought and, Pidge was reminded of the metal chain she had worn for two months. It had been no necklace, although it had been attached to a collar she had had to wear. Those couple of months had been hell. She had been coerced, cheated, manipulated, and hurt. Not truly a slave, but not free either. She had sworn never to dance for an audience again.

Flustered, Pidge quickly took off her shawl to free her neck and calm herself down. It had been years ago. She was on a floating restaurant in the sky for a job. She needed to keep her cool.

“I’d like a sake too, please.” She looked back at Baymon, ready to hear whatever else he had to say.

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music OOC [Recurring]

Spoiler

​

“Jazz?” Vennis inquired, not so much in disbelief or approval sought for as a remark of mild disbelief. Baymon shared it as they both stared at Pidgelle. A woman after my own heart, he humored his thoughts. The genre and its instruments were no rarity in the galaxy, with so many bands particularly keen in their swinging jizz that even Baymon would move his feet to on occasion. That said, it took a fine if finite caliber of a creature to appreciate the slower melody of the form, all but dancing from the instruments themselves. Baymon was one such soul, and evidently Pidgelle was another, and so too was Vennis—at least enough for a floating chef so that he knew just the track to put on. It was the kind of music that did not match the style of his boat, and that was not peculiar but was perfect.

Baymon watched his Twi’lek counterpart like a tourist mesmerized behind glass in an aquarium, only this was no fish sitting before a mammal. She had shown her capability and culpability back in the cantina and then some, not masquerading as some criminal mastermind but masking her mastering of the mind and of crime. Even if she does not yet know it. So much potential, this one.

It snuck up on her before she could repress the thought and, Pidge was reminded of the metal chain she had worn for two months. It had been no necklace, although it had been attached to a collar she had had to wear. Those couple of months had been hell. She had been coerced, cheated, manipulated, and hurt. Not truly a slave, but not free either. She had sworn never to dance for an audience again.

Flustered, Pidge quickly took off her shawl to free her neck and calm herself down. It had been years ago. She was on a floating restaurant in the sky for a job. She needed to keep her cool.

...And so much pain… If Baymon could see that then Zenke could see it like fish in a sea of crystal clear water right down to the bed. In fact, it was Baymon’s own right hand who spoke as the former sat there listening.

“You were a slave?” Zenke asked Pidgelle quite candidly. He was a polite professional, this man, whose candor was never meant to be anything but sincere and sympathetic. He gave her time to respond, if she wanted to, while Vennis placed a warm bottle of sake on the table and a cup before the Twi’lek, along with some culinary refreshments.

“I was a slave once…” Zenke trailed off, sipping his glass of orange juice, meeting Baymon’s eyes just long enough for the latter to wonder why his friend was being even more honest than usual. “My family was massacred by a syndicate. I was taken as a prisoner and sold into captivity. I was a child. One day, I woke up chained to a basement pipe—branded, burned, barely alive—and I heard noises upstairs.”

Baymon wanted to sigh at length at the same time as taking a deep breath and holding it forever. Instead, he sat as still as silence, listening to the music that underscored the horrors of youth as Zenke continued.

“When the shooting stopped, the door opened, and footsteps on the stairs… I looked up...saw a man staring down at me with a gun in his hand…” Zenke smiled. “...And a hat on his head. The next moment, I was free, and never again have I been forced to serve someone else...all thanks to Baymon Bluevynson.”

Zenke fell silent after that story, gazing at the tabletop as if it were a basement floor. At last, Baymon downed his cup of sake, having forgotten it was there waiting for him. There was nothing he could add to that story. What was said was said. Instead, he yearned for a moment of speechless serenity, listening to the saxophone as the restaurant barge drifted in the breeze.

“Instruments of the wind…” He caught himself speaking while watching the city beneath the clouds. “They soar and sail from planet to moon—trumpet, trombone, saxophone—spinning webs of harmony. That calm of jazz, like fresh water down the throat, a pillow behind your head, the touch of skin from someone you love. Improvising with piano in a haze; cigar smoke wafting through the players and patrons of a cantina; silence seizing their spirits as they see the soul of the saxophone.” He shook his head in disbelief. The worst things in life should never happen. But the best things in life? Perhaps they, too, should also never happen.

“Well,” Baymon snapped himself out of his trance. “The truth is, there are some scoundrels in this glittering galaxy of ours who don’t share such an appreciation for jazz like we do!” He held up a fresh cup in salutations toward Pidgelle before downing the sake. “Hasho is one such regrettable soul. What he fails to appreciate in music, however, he more than makes up for in his appreciation for, shall we say, xenobiology? Twi’lek’s, for instance. He can’t get enough of their lovely lekku!” Me neither, for that matter, but in my own way.

It was then that Zenke kept his silence, though Baymon dared not glance his friend’s way lest he spot any trace of hesitation on his countenance. Instead, he plucked a mixture of shrimp and oysters into his mouth, let the sake wash it down, then finished the treat with a swallow of fish roe before clearing his throat.

“So, here we are: two Humans, an Anzat and a Twi’lek in a wondrously quaint barge high in Star City, with a Zabrak somewhere beneath our feet and probably smelling like his own two, while misinterpreting my employees for slaves. To get them back, well, all I would need is a scoundrel so swell and supportive enough to sell herself as said slave to said Zabrak, infiltrate his ring of serfs, and free them all with her snazzy self to rendezvous with her rescuers in time for sake!”

With that, Baymon stuffed a forkful of chanpuru into his mouth and held up another cup to his delightfully daring and dear Pidgelle. “More?”



@Kestrel

 

[Pidge Batana]

The woman sat quietly, green eyes intently focused on the gentle stream of sake being poured from the bottle to her glass. She felt the stares of both men as she tipped her head back and downed the glass in one go. The liquid was fiery and warm. It made her mouth tingle and her throat itch. Good. Something to distract her from that cold, hard memory of chains. Think of anything else.

“You were a slave?”

Too late. They had seen through her. So much for being a great actress and show woman. Taking the liberty of a long pause, Pidge finally inhaled deeply. Her Lekku twitched slightly.

“Not in the holorecords, I wasn’t. I was an employee at The Lucky Lekku Cantina and Suite. They bought me a nice costume, gave me lodging, and taught me to dance. Then they told me I owed them 250 thousand credits. With a blaster casually swinging at the manager’s side, I wasn’t about to argue for a more fair price.“ The Twi’lek swallowed and poured herself another glass. They could figure out the rest. “I tried to quit and found I was being shadowed and had twenty cycles to pay up, so I went back, working days treating the sick and injured at the medbay, then drinking and taking spice to forget the night.“

Something between a grimace and a cruel smile at the irony crossed her face. Zenke’s calm reflected none of the surprise she had expected. Quietly he began. Murder. Captivity. Brutal work. Terrifying rescue. The man seemed almost detached from it, but it was clear that under the unreadable mask, Baymon’s assistant still felt the pain of being treated as less than human.

Stillness settled on the deck of the barge and a gentle wind blew. Eventually the woman relaxed once more and swayed to the music. Baymon was once again monologuing, caught up in his own thoughts. She found his self confident words and aloof tone comforting. He was a clever man who prided himself in his cleverness, but in a way that was less pompous and more amusing and charming. Then the scoundrel moved casually onto the topic of xenobiology. Was this going where she thought it was going? Sex appeal and beauty?

The conversation did indeed go the route she had predicted. Baymon wanted her to pose as a gorgeous slave and infiltrate the place. Her glare was sharp enough to cut stone, but she couldn’t turn down a good offer. Her employer’s pockets were undoubtedly deep.

“More?”

“Please. Do continue.“

@Die Shize @Baymon Bluevynson

 

[Baymon Bluevynson]

Music IC

Spoiler

At Pidgelle’s behest, she did not need to lift a single finger as Baymon poured more sake into her cup like it was a hole in the dirt where a lake once glittered. After his daring spiel, she did not seem entirely too hesitant or reluctant in the dangerous endeavor that he had just offered her to take up. Most forms of infiltration were risky business, whether you were hacking into some back door of the holonet or waltzing into some criminal’s place of business disguised as a slave. In the latter scenario, getting caught would mean...something to make one hesitate. She’s either confident in me or herself. Too early to tell which one or which one might be worse than the other.

“Hasho Zing’gett is a few things in life. Besides being scum he does yet have an eye for high value. His business revolves around the auctioning of items ranging from the less legitimate to the more illegal, from stolen art to stolen beings, all for the highest bidder.” Baymon sipped his sake this time, the taste a little more bitter. “He is not the most prominent in his line of work but he does make a catchy chit all the same. And he is also a creature of habit. The auctions are always held in different locations with varying guest lists and enough time to pass between each one.”

He paused to pass a cigar beneath his nose before lighting it up and puffing toward the sky. “I was once invited to one of these prestigious programs but I ended up rescinding the invitation. Hasho and I have been on bad terms ever since but, hey, now I have a ticket back in and a graceful companion at my side!”

He let that fact sink in, watching for how Pidgelle might react to the idea of pairing up with him for this little operation. “In truth, I’m without invitation, but you are my ticket. When Hasho catches wind of my arrival, he may only suspect that I suspect that it was him who hijacked my ship—he doesn’t know I know, but I know. Seeing me by myself, he’d kick me to the curb like a lost puppy. With you, though, he’ll reason that I’ve brought a peace offering as much as a gesture that he has beaten me.”

Baymon exchanged a look with Zenke, his closest subordinate who took so many of his calls and helped arrange so many aspects of his business, all to the point that he would be intimately aware of where he was going. “It’s a simple lie to sell. My business has been, shall we say, fluctuating lately and really the last thing I need right now is the loss of another asset. Truly, if I can make peace with an enemy then I’ll have one less enemy to worry about. On that note, he’ll accept my token at his cost and grin from his lips to his horns.”

He sighed out smoke, crossing one leg over the other as he leaned back, the breeze crawling across his visage, and for a moment it was his turn to smile before he searched for Pidgelle’s gaze so as to capture it. “Well, that’s the story, now here’s the plot. Hasho’s latest auction, right here in Star City, is being held one night in the Viceroy Casino. It’s a flashy joint whose servers aren’t so far above the slaves beneath their feet—they’re kept in the lower levels with tiers of VIP access leading to the auction floor and the vault.

“We’ll arrive at the casino’s main entrance, tango with security moments before we’re permitted entry, then again to the auction floor. Before the bidding begins, you’ll be taken to the vault with the other poor souls, including my missing crew, and be bought by one Mr. Chaplin.”

He let all that sink in once again. Here four individuals were sharing a restaurant barge, while only one of them had just been told that, if she agreed, her entire self would be locked in a room and then placed on a stage. There was certainly more to it but Baymon decided to pause for Q&A first.

“With me so far?”




@Kestrel @Pidge Batana