[HUTT BOUNTY] Once Upon A Time In The Old West... District.

[T.J]

Tatooine. Mid day.


The binary suns of the Tatoo system baked the desert planet and its denizens as they reached their zenith in the sky above. To many it was an unbearable extreme, forcing them to retreat to the relative comfort of the shade or indoors. For Rook it was another day in the sun. He had grown up on Tatooine, though he hadn't stepped foot on the dust ball of a planet in several years. His youth had been spend romping around the desert dunes with the small time gangs the younger crowds always tended to form. Where he had met his first and last mentor, and where the code he chose to live his life by had first began to develop. Rook had not come to reminisce of times now long gone however, his visit to Tatoonie was strictly business. The Hutts and their cartel were his new employers, the newest in a long string of odd jobs and dead end mercenary bands. His hope was to remain within their services for as long as he could stomach their less than honorable business tactics. The money was good, and there was always work that needed doing. A fact that kept the gunslinger quite busy. The galaxy was full of unsavory scum that needed putting in their place. Once such piece of trash was the very reason Rook found himself on the planet of his birth.

A Rodian by the name of Farr Nial also known simply as Nail had upset someone of importance within the Hutt Cartel. A fact made quite apparent by their seemingly disregard for his previous to them. It was a fact Rook would take to heart, should they ever deem him worthy of the same honor. He was a bounty hunter, the same profession that Rook now found himself, though he was sure their reasons for doing so could not have been further apart. From what information he had gleaned from the holonet and from the actual bounty poster he had been given, his Rodian target had a thing for trophies. Not a terribly bad practice, that is of course if you don't take the items the Cartel specifically wants. Conditions were to bring him in alive, though Rook had a feeling leaving the opposing bounty hunter alive would lead to bad blood further down the road. Unfortunately as it was one of his first jobs he had chosen to undertake for his new employer, he decided to keep it by the book. While it had been made quite clear that his target was not to be killed, maiming him was not out of the question.

It had taken Rook weeks to track his green skinned friend down. When one gains a reputation word tends to get around, but even still it took careful planning and the learning Farr's movements from his past exploits to pinpoint a place he'd be likely go to ground should the Cartel come after him. Rook had narrowed his search down to a settlement just outside the Jundland Wastes. He wasn't aware of the towns actual name, as it did not concern him to know it. What mattered was a name of a cantina within the towns western district. It went by the name of Sweetwater and was the only watering holes for miles. It also so happened to be one of Farr's favorite spots to wait for trouble to blow over, a fact that made it one of the more likely places the wanted man would go. Several more days had passed with no sight of his target, giving Rook even more time to formulate a plan for the Rodian's capture. Even still the wait had been agonizing, especially considering he had no way of knowing if he'd even show save for any news he could pull from the holonet pertaining to his whereabouts. Just when agitation had begun to take hold however, Rook got word that a certain bounty hunter was headed to the Sweetwater for what was sure to be an extended visit.

He would have to play it smart. Only an idiot would simply walk in and attempt to bring in another bounty hunter. Farr was sure to know of the Cartel's bounty, making the Rodian more paranoid than he probably already was. This very reason was why Rook had chosen to loiter near the establishment. He had been keen to learn the faces of those who worked there, discovered the entrances and exits of the building, and even the local law's response time should things turn sour. He watched from the porch of a neighboring building as a speeder he had yet to see slowly drift up to the cantina. It was a nondescript vessel, lacking any kind of noticeable markings or details. Coupled with the fact that its pilot drove the thing like he had just bought it gave Rook all he needed to know to summarize that his target had finally arrived. This was further validated by the Rodian emerging from the speeder, cloaked in a garb unlike that which he was normally seen wearing. In a flash he was inside the Cantina, and just as quickly Rook sprung into action.

 

[T.J]

Pushing himself off the post he had been leaning against, Rook took one last drag from the cigara he had been nursing before flicking the still smoldering fleck to the dirt. It was a nasty habit sure, but one he had grown fond of in the past several months. It was a whole hell of a lot better than deathsticks, though both had the moniker of " coffin nails " in certain social groups. Regardless, the life he had chosen to live was far more dangerous than the chemicals that were in the cigaras he liked to smoke. Flipping over his duster on his right side, he briefly pulled his six shooter from its holster. The mess he was bound to step into was sure to be quick and nasty, being prepared could mean the difference between walking away and being six feet under. He cocked the weapons hammer back, the small metal piece clicking soundly as it locked into place. Sure the piece was a double action; meaning it didn't require the hammer to he pulled back prior to each shot, but preemptively doing so made for a faster shorter trigger pull. Giving Rook several extra seconds to make the first shot. Which, more often than not, was the only shot that was needed. Sliding the weapon back into his holster with a soft thud, he flipped his duster back over the piece to better conceal it. Though it wouldn't be a stretch to assume he had a weapon on him, the fact he already had it cocked and ready to go meant trouble was sure to follow. It was best if he kept such a thing a secret if possible.

Stepping on the smoldering butt and grinding it into the gritty sand below his boots, he glanced up at the Sweetwater as it loomed ahead. There no denying he felt the butterflies in his gut, only a fool would say they never felt fear. It kept you alert, made you aware of your surroundings all the better when it really mattered. He wasn't truly afraid in that moment though, just pre-game jitters getting the better of him. In his time as a mercenary Rook had faced down a number of foe far more menacing than a fleeing Rodian, it was the potential collateral caused by a desperate foe that had the man worried. By it's rather run down condition it was quite apparent the small town had enough problems to worry about, a string of deaths would only worsen the burden the residents already had to endure. He would do his best to keep his aim true, though he couldn't speak for whomever he would face once inside.

Stepping through the double doors, Rook was hit by sights and sounds that were all too familiar with him. The quiet shuffling of cards on felt as a group in the corner dealt out a new deal, the haze of cigar smoke that seemed to endlessly hang just above eye level, the sour scent of a building on the back end of it's better days. It was a scene he knew all too well, having spent many a night places that seemed eerie similar. The interior of the cantina was simple enough. One horseshoe bar positioned mid room, separating rows of booths sunk into the far wall by a dozen or so tables complete with their own sets of chairs. Making a b-lining for the bar, he sat on the far edge so that he was facing the rest of the building. Keeping his head low and his posture gaunt, it all helped to create the illusion that he was unassuming. Just another thirsty traveler seeking one last bit of the drink before heading back into the endless desert. Ordering the usual whisky he tended to favor, he kept his posture hunched over the bar and his head low. Though the brim of his hat obscured his eyes from view, he silently scanned the other patrons in search of his target. Taking a sip of the stiff drink he spotted the Rodian towards the back of the building in one of the booths. He was alone, with most of the other patrons of the cantina giving his sitting spot a wide birth.

He seemed anxious, as any other man in position would. Drowning his worries in a rather flamboyant looking cocktail, he seemed utterly disconnected from the world around him. The opportunity to strike would seem to be unparalleled, however Rook would continue to sit and wait for a time. Nursing the same drink for what seemed like hours, he silently watched as his target got more and more inebriated. It was clear Farr thought himself in the clear, completely safe from the Cartel and their cronies in his little hideaway. Lulled into a false sense of security brought on by familiar surroundings and an excess of the drink, the time had finally come to make his move.

 

[T.J]

Rook place a credit chit on the bar top to pay for his whiskey as he nonchalantly made his way across the room. Sliding into the booth opposing Farr, his sudden presence startled the Rodian enough for him to reach for one of his guns. This motion was halted however, by the tell tale click of a revolver's hammer. Resting his foot against the support for the table, it allowed him to aim his piece at Farr without actually drawing it from its holster. The sound that the Rodian would hear was not the weapon being cocked however, being that he had already done so prior to entering the building. Rather, he had slightly depressed the trigger of his weapon so that he could move the hammer between it's positions without firing. Clicking it forward and then all the way backward again while pressing the trigger all the way in, it told Nial that the only thing standing between him and a bullet was Rook's thumb. All he needed to do was let the hammer slip from his thumbs grip, and Farr's nethers would no longer be attached to the rest of his person.

" Howdy. "

Rook said plainly as he grabbed the Rodian's half full drink from the table top. Swishing the beverage around for a moment, he took a sniff of the concoction. With a sour look he tipped the glass to the side, pouring it's contents on the ground beside the booth. Doing so didn't set so well with Farr, and as he began to protest he was promptly silenced by Rook raising his index finger to shush him.

" Farr Nial. Or is Nail more to yer likin'? "

Without allowing the Rodian to respond he continued.

" See I've been lookin' fer you Nail. Seem's the Hutt's don't take to kindly to you taking what's theres... Didn't yer momma ever teach you stealin' ain't right? "

A dry chuckle slipped past his lips at the thought. Something about a Rodian mother scolding her child in the etiquette of stealing amused him slightly.

" Guess y'know now I reckon... We can do this two ways."

Raising his hand again to point one finger upward.

" One. You come with me peaceably, and no harm comes to yah. "

Raising a second finger.

" Two. You make this deal hard on yerself and I have to take get rough. "

Farr didn't give Rook the chance to finish, as his sentence was cut short by a spit wad hitting his chest. Courtesy of the rather pissed off alien opposing him. Letting a sigh pass his lip, Rook shook his head slightly before aiming his revolver up in it's holster and letting the hammer go. The shot rang out loud and fierce in the quite little cantina, shooting a hole straight through the table and right into Farr's left shoulder. A non-fatal wound should the proper medical care be administered. Unfortunately for Farr it wasn't the only injury he was about to sustain. What patrons still within the small building quickly vacated, unwilling to stick around should the gunfight escalate any further.

The shock of being shot propelled Farr out of the booth and into the open area of the cantina's interior. Fueled by adrenaline and a drunken rage he grabbed for the nearest item he could get his hands on. Clumsily grabbing at one of the revovlers on his hips, his attempts to articulate his hand with an injured shoulder ended in him dropping the weapon. Frustration gave way to pure rage and he instinctively grabbed the the next best thing in his mind. Such an item was one of the many chairs that littered the area. Picking up the piece of furniture and seemingly unaware of the bleeding gunshot wound to his shoulder, he flung the item in Rook's general direction. Though his mind might not have been aware of his injuries, Farr's body definitely was. The throw went wide to the side of his injury, the arm unable to support such an action. The old wooden chair smashed violently against the wall, followed by Rook jumping out of the booth with his gun drawn.

Firing a second shot, this time aimed at his target's lower thigh close to the knee, Rook brought the crazed alien to his knees. Just as quickly as it had began, the fight was over. Farr could no longer run, let alone put up any kind of resistance. Calmly walking up to the still enraged Farr, he shook his head again before smacking him dead center in the side of his head with the handle of his revolver.

Slumping over into a heap on the floor, it was clear the Rodian had been knocked unconscious.

" Should'ah picked option one pardner... "