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...Steadily paced and heavily purposed boots stomp heel to toe; the kind of boots with metal plates violently bent and roundly impaled into the sturdy and durable rubber-like material, the kind of boots with scuffed blood stains and fingernail scratches worn with honor in remembrance of many a scum and haus all the same in their last moments, stretching with groans in each step of strength and indomitable presence.
The black boots stretch out from the darkness of night into flat dimmed spheres of yellow light projected onto the hard etched pavement reaching out with round hands over steps to catch any ship that dare rest its wings over the tainted ravines where the molded and diseased do business. A shine of the jet pitched landing floors mirror the feint reflected light of those numerous lining light posts like a haze of smoke, the light unable to fully exist in the murky depths.
The durable boots snarl as they shift back and forth past others, others daring not impede those boot's path. All henchmen, all dirty investors, and lower level bosses alike hold in their stance at the coming of the sound; the sound of those boots command respect, command total acknowledgment. A barrel blasts out a single reverberation of gunfire, causing an assumption of a modified dual barrel hold-out shotgun; followed by the soft patter of two smoking shells at the side of those smug bastard boots, practically puffing out their chest without fear of detriment.
Heads turned that weren't already turned yet no body fell, no blood spattered. Instead the pump could not hold off the bicep's flex, unable to withstand it's corresponding clenching fist's grip in ripping motion and caulking back the reload unnecessarily and prematurely just to prove his point further; as if it was needed. Swelling the enraged danger to those around him, reaching out with one hand ready to blow away one in particular, the large and heavily clothed barbarian stretched out that one shotgun extending like his own right hand and aimed it flush up against the back of the one head yet to turn his way. It had yet to turn out of fear, out of knowledge of what was to come, and out of understanding of why it had come; though too soon, it came before this one had a chance to secure his getaway.
The Weasel opens his mouth, but the barbarian male forcefully shoves the severed flat barrel tip into the back crease of the double crossing Weasel's head and interrupts him. The barbarian human male shakes his head, speaking with a soft scratchy voice of dirt and grit; true strength. "I never shoulda trusted'ya...", the human laments with a rising smirk of sarcasm and satisfaction of knowing death's revenge was at his fingertips. The little Weasel of a scumbag shivers and nervously claws at broken bridges of the possible, his slippery tongue normally capable of extending those bridges to save his sorry ass. "...Not this time...", the barbarian connotes. "...B-b-but Ranae! I-I..", the Weasel pleads. "What'd I tell you!?!", the barbarian Ranae stresses. The Weasel corrects himself, "I-I, r-right. Tarik. I meant Tarik... listen I only meant to make a quick slip. Y'know, make a switch and make a cred..." "And what about those lizards back at the shop", Ranae slowly questions the fool Weasel's reasonings with each powerful popping of 'b's along his full lips. "Wh-Who? O-Oh! You mean the Trandoshans? Well that was just an idea. I mean I can't take c-credit for that." "Dat's the second time I seen them workin for you and the last time", the gritty Ranae promised. The Weasel finally saw the end and thought to scramble, "I-I can help you get out of this!! I can call these slimo's off!! J-Just wait!!!" "Shoulda never trusted'ya with my ship. Shoulda never trusted'ya with this job. ...Let's make dis messy.", Ranae's breath oozed with that last like a dragon's fiery preceding with a showing of his pearly whites decorating his grin.
And with that, a henchmen in his anticipation focused his gaze through the ring around the trigger and notices the large and jagged blade curved around Ranae's knuckles; and POP goes the Weasel! With a bang and a splatter, the skirmish began.
Weasel's body lost stability and wavered. Armed men engaged Ranae by knocking up his gun, shockingly discovering Ranae's intended release of the handle with a twist of the wrist and two flash slices resulting in spilled intestines all over. Shots fired too close and Ranae easily navigated the herd with reaching slices and ravaging slashes that tore flesh and blood to glitter the runway red. The Weasel's knees impacted with the hard floor, splashing blood and matter from the others out to halo around his kneecaps. Ranae moving with a speed unseen, the helpless shots flashed with aimless shots of light into the air as he reduced the bodies to less than palpable parts. Weasel's chest smacks down flat, face-planting lifelessly in beautiful harmony with the devastation all around. ...No body is left standing.
The scene is left with a high pitched ping, the jerking motion of his fist repelling blood onto the ground from the sharp edge of one of his favorite blades. The metal humming after the stick of red sap plops into an arc about his stance. The blades are heard being put away and the boots, those stained and masculine boots resume their march; but for a moment's hiccup, scuffing a kick through the Weasel's forehead to knock him out of Ranae's path towards his ship. As he enters the ramp with all of their cargo, some last words are whispered with a rasp. "...Never shoulda trusted'ya..."
Ranae Tarik
Human/Korunnai
Male
26
6'1"
201 lbs
White Hazed Light-Blue Eyes
Pale Rough Skin
Countless Battle and Surgical Scars/ Flashy Eyes
Force Sensitive
Human/Korunnai
Male
26
6'1"
201 lbs
White Hazed Light-Blue Eyes
Pale Rough Skin
Countless Battle and Surgical Scars/ Flashy Eyes
Force Sensitive
Focus: Close Melee/Hand-to-Hand Combat
Values: Currency, though deep down he misses true companionship and love.
Political View: “Corrupt parties can do what they want, as long as they don’t bother me.”
Peeves: Liars, prostitutes/human labor
Quirks: Tilt of the head right like a shrug, unnecessary smirks and smiles.
Attachments: Ranae has a tendency for wearing some of his tech. For different reasons, Ranae always has at least one piece on his person.
Bio: A smuggler with a conscience and some serious trust issues. This paranoid powerhouse is a trained killer who keeps to himself, having come from a past of bloodshed has begun to rethink his warring nature due to a previous love. Having left him for this reason, he now wanders the galaxy to find peace without her …or loose himself in the meantime. Aware of his affinity for the Force, Ranae has only learned to alter his speed and strength.
Values: Currency, though deep down he misses true companionship and love.
Political View: “Corrupt parties can do what they want, as long as they don’t bother me.”
Peeves: Liars, prostitutes/human labor
Quirks: Tilt of the head right like a shrug, unnecessary smirks and smiles.
Attachments: Ranae has a tendency for wearing some of his tech. For different reasons, Ranae always has at least one piece on his person.
Bio: A smuggler with a conscience and some serious trust issues. This paranoid powerhouse is a trained killer who keeps to himself, having come from a past of bloodshed has begun to rethink his warring nature due to a previous love. Having left him for this reason, he now wanders the galaxy to find peace without her …or loose himself in the meantime. Aware of his affinity for the Force, Ranae has only learned to alter his speed and strength.
Business or Pleasure: __ Ranae is available for hire no matter the job, as long as he gets his pay and a good knowledge of what his job is and all included details; or at least a close description. Good or bad, right or wrong, Ranae cares not for what he has no control over. He was built for this and will do what he does best. Excluding assassinations, Ranae considers all options. Preferring cargo runs and smuggling jobs, Ranae has a knack for the fight and is no doubt known for this. Make no mistake. He is no slave to money, but he takes the jobs no other discretionary will. Level-headed, Ranae will quietly take care of your problems.
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