Ask Tatooine Live dishonourably

[Aarne Tuwey]

Live dishonourably​

”I owe you?” Arn scoffed ”- what about what you owe me?” the bolshy smuggler eyed his client up and down, his right hand resting on the butt of his blaster. The ‘client’, a heavy-set alien with an offensively ugly face, snarled at him. Arn assumed he was trying to spit some sort of rim-world insult, only to stop himself when the smuggler gently closed his hand around the butt of his firearm.

”I don’t owe you shit, dust-bag.” the Klatooinian barked, hawking up a globule of spit at Arns feet. Dust-bag? the smuggler was confused. Where’d he get that one from? ”Your gunna get a bad reputation with my lot, for being a cheap-skate lump of sh -” Arn was cut off as the engineering droid looking after the Skydancer, which was parked up in the landing bay he was standing in front of, trundled over, shouting something about ‘rusting motivators’.

By the time he had turned back to his Klatooinian client, the runty little squib was gone.

”You know pal,” Arn lamented to the droid ”...I really hate this rock sometimes.” he kicked the side of a nearby crate, yelped in pain, and wondered just how this day could get any worse.

@Zay

 

[Crix Dolan]

Crix had his new twin DG-34 Peacemakers disassembled and spread out before him as he meticulously cleaned the weapons. The freshly healed scar under his left eye itched, but he ignored it. Beegee rolled in humming cautiously. His attitude since the attack had been erratic. Being hunted and almost killed tended to do that to a person. Beegee had learned not to sneak up on him. The little droid rolled in and nuzzled his leg. ignored him and the droid, defeated, rolled into his closet to charge.

Black Sun had decided Hardlight was a problem and rather than partner with them, they'd sought to forcibly absorb them... Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he repressed the emotion threatening to shut him down. Crix swallowed the lump in his throat. Prince Raza had made a critical mistake by failing to kill him on Zeltros. The Falleen bastard had made this personal.

The timer on his chrono went off and he shut it off. His weapons were pristine and shown with malice. His work brought a wry grin to his lips and he stood from his workbench. He slipped on a clean tunic, pulled on his blastvest, and slung his utility belt around his waist. He had a meeting with a scoundrel, Crix groped for the man's name, but couldn't quite remember it. It didn't matter. Friends, in this line of work, were just liabilities. It was easier to be alone.

Crix stepped out of The Freebird and into his M-68 speeder. The meeting was in a cantina across town in some back-alley dive called, Tongue and Cheek. Crix had run an in-depth background check on the place and was confident Black Sun wasn't affiliated. When he arrived he cased the joint before parking and approaching. The main entrance hissed open as he neared and the regulars inside whipped around to scowl at him, he scowled back and stepped inside.

A weathered twi'lek, who's skin was sickly green and tatted with wavering tribels that striped her arms and lekku, stood behind the bar.

"Whaddya want?"

"Whiskey."

"Got vodka."

His eyes flicked to the bottle of bottom-shelf Corellian whiskey behind her. She watched him, but didn't budge. His jaw flexed in anger. He was so tired of this back and forth. The constant need to prove he wasn't some outsider.

Crix said, "I'll have a shot of the Corellian swill behind you."

She grumbled but relented. She snatched the bottle shorted him on the pour then spilled some as she sat it down.

"15 credits."

"You must be out of your damn mind."

A gammorian who'd been watching the encounter from down the bar grunted something indiscernible and the bartender sighed.

She filled the shot, "7."

Crix tossed twenty onto the counter letting the chits scatter and said, "Keep the change for the hospitality."

He took a seat at a booth in the back of the bar with a decent view of the space and a clear view of the entrance. He took a sip of the whiskey and waited.

@Nor'baal

 

[Aarne Tuwey]

"I know R6, whose side are you even on buddy?" Arn shot a glare at his diminutive droid, who had made it very clear that Arn, and Arn alone, was responsible for the predicament in which they now found themselves. Grumbling to himself, Arn stepped into some two-bit looking bar called the 'Tongue and Cheek', and headed directly to the bar.

There was someone else there, asking the barman for a drink, well, negotiating for one, more or less. In places like this, it seemed that you needed to push as hard as you possibly could for a drink you would be paying for. The 'top shelf' items were normally reserved for the people the barman's bosses preferred.

Not one to pass up on an opportunity, Arn spotted the man paying twenty credits for a seven credit drink, and called the barman over. "He'llspot me." Arn smirked "Make that two Corellians," the barkeep sighed and poured a second drink, which Arn took, and walked over to the booth, before clinking his glass against Crix' and sitting down.

"Very kind of you pal. Names Arn Tuwey, you look like a Bantha took a dump on your drive?" he laughed slightly, offering the man a stim, thankful for the conversation, and the drink, if nothing else.

 

[Crix Dolan]

Danger colored Crix's expression as the goofball who'd stumbled in behind him took a seat. A fact that was evident in the man's statement as he sipped his whiskey. Both of Crix's hands were below the table. His right came up and grasped his glass.

Crix leered at the newcomer a moment longer before saying, "It was a Rancor," he said with an amicable smile veiling the fury he felt, "Nice to meet you Arn. I'm Damon, are you the one I'm meeting?"

As he spoke he shifted his weight and eased his heavy blaster from it's holster. It was aimed across at "Arn's" torso. His finger was already on the trigger and ready to pull if this piece of shit so much as breathed the wrong way.

He hoped this wasn't the scoundrel he was meeting with, but fate never played fair. Based on the actions taken this guy was either trying to prove himself or thought he was untouchable, both of which were problematic for the job Crix needed to pull.

"So, what are your qualifications?"

His voice was relaxed and welcoming as if this were a totally normal interview and he didn't have a heavy blaster aimed directly at the applicant.

@Nor'baal

 

[Aarne Tuwey]

Gently, Arn drew his own blaster under the table, totally unaware that Crix had done the same. With the best false grin he could muster, he replied "Best pilot in the sys -" he stopped mid-sentence " - ok, one of the best pilots in the system." he added, hoping to make his statement a little more accurate.

"I've got a ship, and good one to, willing to take on a job for you, within reason of course." Arn replied. Truth be told he was low on credits and needed to find some income and fast, so, regardless of what the man was going to offer him, Arn would almost certainly take it.

With his free hand, he took a sip of his drink and smacked his lips. Even in a dive like this, you couldn't beat Corellian spirits. "So, what's the job?" he asked, looking the man up and down, as he tried to suss him out.

 

[Crix Dolan]

Crix's grin widened as Arn began. He'd seen a million smugglers just like this guy, hell he'd been a smuggler just like him. Dolan would bet his ship this guy had his blaster aimed at him under the table.

"First, why don't we put our blasters away."

Crix would start, making a show of sliding the weapon back into it's holster.

"Second, what kind of ship? Telling me you have a good ship could mean anything."

Crix's time as an engineer had made one thing very clear, not all ships are created equal. If Arn was flying a fucking YT-1300, Crix would walk. Arn wreaked of Corellian swagger and entitlement and that screamed CEC to him. At the end of the day, he couldn't fly The Freebird on this. Black Sun would spot it immediately and the whole mission would be over before it started.

Dolan pulled out a datapad and set it on the table. An article on Power Gems was pulled up.

"There's a transport company operating on Vandor-1. Word is they've hit it big with these things. We're gonna steal some and blow their complex."

He knew Arn would protest, "You'll be compensated appropriately."

On the datapad, Crix pulled up the Hardlight App.

"Enter your payment info here. You'll get your deposit immediately."

Dolan was confident the "reason" Arn would need to join the job would be well within the smuggler's need.

"Any questions?"

 

[Aarne Tuwey]

With a cautious move, Arn stowed his blaster back in his holster, his smug grin never once leaving his face. He made a slight effort to exaggerate his movements, as a show of good faith - or at least, a show of whatever could pass as god faith out here in the underbelly of the galaxy. "Now let me tell you something," Arns grin only grew in intensities as he smelled the prospect of rich profits [collor=yellow]"She's a dream to fly, but I get the feeling that ain't what your asking."[/color]

He leaned back in his chair "You're looking at over 100 metrics on your haulage space, and that's not including the erm," he tapped his nose "additional space, you get me?" he referenced the ships many smuggling hatches. "I only fly the best, so I'm in the saddle of a YT-2400 Freighter. Best in the line, and I made a few updates to her to keep her cutting edge."

"Plus you don't just get the ship with your credits, you get four guns." he pointed down to the weapons on his hips "What's that? 'That's only two guns Arn!' - you gotta count these beauties," he flexed his muscles "- yeah that's right baby, you get what you pay for, now, when do we set off?" he added, putting in his payment info, and standing up.