The Art of the Deal

[Nor'baal]

OOC: Yes, I nabbed to title from a Jabba the Hutt comic collection ;)

Location: Vesajilc Race Course, Lounge
Planet: Ryloth​

A haze of Hookah smoke rose above the tumult and hubbub of the assembled crowd as Nor’baal Vesajilic Diori exhaled, emptying his vast lungs of the intoxicating smoke in one huge gush of air. His large eyes trawled around the room, their infrared spectrum picking out some of the finer details in the room which the rest of the guests would probably be unable to see. In the corner, two sentiments appeared to be collapsed from a spice overdose, their pockets being emptied by a zealous and attentive Ewok. Nor’baal waved a pudgy hand to one of the Guards, who had the Ewok removed, not because Nor’baal suddenly felt a need to crack down on theft, but because he was getting hungry.


Checking the time, Nor’baal allowed his attention to become more focused on the task at hand, after all he had a very special guest coming today, one he had been waiting to see for a while. This guest was vital in his plans, not only to see an expansion in Cartel space, but also to see a reformed, or indeed collapsed Empire – two things the Hutt very much wanted to see. His guest was skilful, connected and just the person Nor’baal needed to further his plans. The Hutt licked his lips as he thought over the ‘Bacta-Spice’ brew he had devised, something to make Bacta more addictive, and to drive up the performance of his Slaves in combat.


Knowing his Guest, she was probably already here, and a nod from his translation droid confirmed this to be the case. Reluctantly, the Hutt stowed his Hookah pipe, forgoing this pleasure due to the business that needed doing. He sat up more on his throne, and waited. Beside him Scrapheap the translator droid figetted, whether by choice of down to his failing electronics, Nor'baal was unsure, and to be honest, didn't really care.

 

[Vica Veszk]

With a whine, the nondescript - and in Vica's opinion, sort of junky - landspeeder came to a rolling stop before the Hutt's lounge, the vehicle bouncing gently on its repulsorlifts as she disembarked from its faded leather seats. The man at the controls, an Imperial Knight with a hell of a punching arm, raised his voice to speak, and the blonde haired woman paused, brows knitted in thought.

"Five minutes. Maybe ten." The slight lilt at the end of her words hinted at uncertainty. And even if he didn't show it, she was almost certain he was rolling his eyes in a sort of internalized, metaphorical display of impatience. The Seneschal had better things to do than be her keeper - and she was certainly old enough that she didn't need a babysitter - but their arrangement was a necessary evil. Despite being one of Mjolla's many contacts (and some might suggest the woman's only true friend) she was still a potential liability as far as the Rebellion was concerned, and it would take more than a few nice words about the former Imperial Spymaster to convince the rest of the resistance's forces she wasn't just some problem waiting to happen.

Taking his muffled grunt for a negative reaction, Vica shrugged. "You don't actually have to stay."

Unfortunately, they both knew better than that. Watching as her handler sped off, the former Sith let out a sigh, long and slow as she eased her hands into the soft, worn pockets of her bantha hide jacket. She wasn't dressed for the club scene - but then again, she hadn't come to dance. Simple slacks, comfortable boots, a plain shirt. A pair of lightsabers on her hips drew the attention of the guards, but the truth was that Vica came in peace. Paranoid peace, but peace just the same.

They were on the same side, after all. Or so she was willing to believe.

With a bit of gentle, Force-assisted persuasion, she made her way through the entrance and moved slowly through the assembled crowd. Her senses were sharp - not quite the infrared vision the Hutts could boast - and being the anxious sort, it seemed prudent to determine the lounge was actually safe before venturing in further. Sweeping through the minds of the assembled crowd, save for her gracious host, Vica searched for a hint that something was wrong. That someone was planning something.

It wasn't until she was sure they were safe - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that she approached the throne.

"H'chu apenkee," she offered, placing a hand against her midsection as she managed a small bow. If Vica knew anything about dealing with Hutts, it was that politeness and respect were paramount. They weren't entirely dissimilar to the Sith, in that way. "Its good to see you again, Nor'baal." The place wasn't as safe as, say, Paradise, but it certainly seemed to come close.

 

[Nor'baal Vesajilic Diori]

Nor'baal smiled as she approached, clearly wary of the crowd in the room, and who wouldn't be, for the audience chambers of Hutts where hardly known for holding people of good and honest intent, however, in the presence of their Hutt master, the violent tendencies of the fawning masses where often subdued. As usual, the translator droid Scrapheap approached, ready to introduce Vica to Nor'baal in the usual manner, only to be swatted aside as the vast Hutt descended from his reclining throne and past the Droid, forgoing the usual pomp in favor of a more personal touch.

<Welcome Vica, it is good of you to come, if you wish I can have my servants tend to your speeder?> he said in booming Huttese. Not waiting for the ladies response he spoke once again, summoning a scantly clad young man with a plate of drinks. <Make yourself at home, whilst I have my apartment prepared for a more private meeting.> intoned the Hutt, taking a drink from the tray, before leaning in closer and whispering <I do not wish for this rabble to be part to our plans.>

It was vital to keep up appearance, so Nor'baal chose to hold the meeting downstairs, so as to avoid having to dismiss his fawning crowd in the main lounge, after all, halting a party was something that few members of Criminal Underclass supported. He offered a drink to Vica, <In the meantime, as the room is prepared, tell me, is there anything I might assist you with presently before our business?>

Nor'baal held Vica in high regard, she was in a sense, of value to him - high praise indeed from a Hutt - so there was no reason to not entertain her and offer her his favors before the real business got started.

 

[Vica Veszk]

She was, in essence, a high-profile galactic terrorist. And while those who bombed the palace on Coruscant had been keen to keep their identities hidden, Vica had allowed all of the Empire to see her face and hear her declaration. It was entirely possible that they blamed her for the palace's destruction - she'd played her part in the carnage, certainly - and it didn't take a genius to assume the bounty on her head was astronomically high. How many up and coming hunters would be able to resist taking a crack at her? How many veterans whose necks she'd stepped on in pursuit of her own selfish ambitions would come crawling out of the woodwork to see her delivered to the Empire? Constant vigilance was a necessity. There was simply no other way for her to be. It was with that in mind that she always wore her lightsabers, that she almost always carried some kind of hold-out blaster - though she'd at least relinquished the gun to the guards as a show of good faith - and that she was often (well, always) found with a small container of levistring on her person, programmed to a very specific set of parameters. Sometimes, being so damn skinny had its advantages.

That the Hutt chose to descend from his throne was something of a surprise. She had no need for the droid's services - a decade spent in Hutt Space made it easy to pick up on the species' language, and their base-eight numerical system - and watched with slight amusement as the droid tottered off, his rather plain appearance a stark contrast to the more opulent lounge. Perhaps it held some sort of sentimental value. Or perhaps the Hutt simply liked the shabby aesthetic. Vica wasn't sure.

Despite her nerves, she managed a wide smile. <Thank you, but that won't be necessary.> Saul wasn't exactly her driver, but she had no reason to believe the man couldn't amuse himself while she attended to the matter at hand. When the young man sidled up with a tray of exotic looking drinks, Vica was careful to make eye contact - rather than let her gaze roam downward - and picked a glass from the tray, holding it with intent to partake though not quite following through on the act. The man's attire was.. interesting. She expected to see a few near-naked females wandering around, perhaps a Twi'lek or two among them, but the boy looked like he'd wandered in from a Hapan party, where a loincloth was considered to be woefully overdressed.

Then again, who was she to judge a Hutt's proclivities? Chuckling to herself as the server left them, the Champio shook her head. <No, no. Not unless you're in the business of buying Imperial Star Destroyers.> What to do with the Ubiqtorate's Banehound was becoming something of an issue, truth be told, but she wasn't entirely sold on trying to turn it into a pile of credits just yet.

 

[Nor'baal Vesajilic Diori]

With the welcomes out of the way, the Hutt returned to his reclining throne as his guest spoke, taking a drag of his hookah before nearly choking with glee when he heard the lady speak of the ISD. Large eyes expanding with awe, the Vesajilic recovered from its cough, before speaking in basic, addressing Vica about her offer. The bounty on Vicas head paled into insignificance at the chance to get ones hands on an ISD.

Of course, with Vica having broadcast her recent explosive actions across the Galaxy there would be a veritable army of Bounty Hunters seeking her out, but here in Nor'baals presence, none would dare make an attempt on her life for risk of attracting the Hutts ire, besides the Hutt paid enough to keep them loyal. The occupants of the room where far to preoccupied with drinking and gambling to probably even notice the lady in their midst.

Getting out his datapad, Nor'baal spoke:

"A star destroyer you say? My dear, I am always in the business for such a prize." He chortled to himself, jabbing a few buttons on his Data-Pad before continuing "I would be more than pleased to take it off your hands, for the correct price of course."

Briefly allowing his eyes to be drawn to the nearby slave dancers, Nor'baal considered how much such a mighty vessel as an ISD may cost, before making his offer.

"10,000,000 peggats ought to cover it? Forgive me, but I do not use Credits, they are less effective out here." He chuckled to himself, the outer rim had little use for inner rim currency even now. He jabbed another button on his datapad before terminating the power to it, and jamming all future signals out of the venue so as to not interfere with the transmission.

Handing the pad to the droid, scrap heap, who proceeded to nearly drop it on the floor, the Hutt once again returned his attentions to his pipe.

 

[Vica Veszk]

Truth was, Vica had boats coming out of her ears, and holding on to an Imperial Star Destroyer was simply asking for trouble. Banehouind-class ships were a rare sight outside of the Imperium, and even if the thing had its uses, it made more sense to try and make it someone else's problem. The money itself was immaterial. If she had any inclination that one could simply buy their way into the Rebellion's good graces, she would've attempted it from the get go. Instead, she was stuck being babysat for the foreseeable future, until Mjolla's lackeys realized she wasn't about to turn tail and run screaming back to the Empire, or until some bounty hunter took a lucky shot and split her skull in two. Paranoid as she was, it was difficult to believe that there weren't a few of them lurking among the party-goers, but she'd felt no malice in the minds of those she'd gently invaded upon arrival, and indeed, no one seemed to recognize her. Perhaps they were all too high, too drunk, too intoxicated pure hedonism to care.

"A Banehound," she corrected, "Don't see too many of those out this far." Indeed, the ship's rarity was both a blessing and a curse. Following the Hutt's gaze to the dancers for lack of anything else to stare at, she gave another cursory glance around the room. "Not unless someone's in deep poodoo." As another server breezed past, she deposited her untouched drink on his tray without fanfare. Every woman knew it was a risk to accept drinks of unknown origin, and while Norb'aal didn't really seem like the type to go about poisoning his guests on purpose, Vica didn't have time to mess around with whatever exotic substances the libations were potentially infused with.

"Peggats?" It had been a long time since she'd dealt in anything but credits. Perhaps a more shrewd businessperson might've been able to do the conversion in her head, but Vica wasn't that person. Not when she was attempting to play casual in the proverbial lion's den. Raising a hand to push the hair out of her eyes, fingers running through her short, blonde mane, she spared a glance at the wrist link affixed to her arm. As the Hutt played with his datapad, a dim red light flashed twice and a soft, silent vibration hummed against her skin. And as if on cue, her senses bristled. The Force had a way of taking care of its children, and the sensation that rushed through her then made it clear that something was wrong.

True to her intelligence training, Vica didn't let her worries show. Her smile, slight as it was, didn't falter. Her hands remained steady despite the fact her blood felt like ice. She'd had her doubts about Nor'baal from the beginning - welcoming him into the Coterie had been a risky move, given his known acquisitiveness - but the Force didn't lie. It wasn't the party folk that were trouble: it was the Hutt himself, whose mind she had left untouched out of politeness and respect. And, apparently, a lingering shred of naivety.

As the Hutt puffed on his pipe, she forced a small laugh. "Forgive me, I don't know the conversion off the top of my head. What's the exchange rate?" Without waiting for the creature to respond, Vica's hand dropped to the lightsaber affixed to her left hip, thumb activating the switch to draw out the blade with a distinctive snap-hiss. Their proximity was close enough that she could've found success in simply charging forward, but she opted to throw the saber instead. Assisting it on its path telekinetically, her target was the Hutt's massive torso. She hadn't come to assassinate the oligarch, but her senses screamed trap - and Vica wasn't going to take any chances.

She sidled a hand into her coat pocket and flipped the contact on. Beep. Beep. Beep. Levistring Max freshness. Max deadliness too, in her entirely intimate understanding. The string buzzed and then shot off, intent on speeding true to its target.

 

[Nor'baal Vesajilic Diori]

Cringing as he saw the shimmering blade of energy spinning toward him, knowing that the possibility of escaping it was impossible the Hutt closed his eyes, but as luck would have it, his idiot droid, still trying to work out what to do with its masters Datapad, staggered into the path of the blade. The droid’s metal frame deflected the blade to the side ever so slightly, but it was sufficient for the Hutt to hurl the rest of his body out of the way. The droid fell to the floor in two halves, still blabbering about datapads, and something about drink recipes.

Using the time to his advantage, Nor’baal reached for his blaster and fired rapidly not bothering to aim as he slid away to safety. He winced in agony as the Levistring opened up a cruel gash on his back, whilst his four Gammorrean Guards levelled their weapons and attacked, one being held back by the Hutt.

<Fire you idiots!> he cried <Don’t let her get to the saber!> he screamed, firing his blaster at Vica as he continued to pass toward the exit.

Whilst he could not speak for the actions of the assembled scum, Nor’baal new the character of the dregs of the Galaxy well. Shots had been fired, and a light-saber wielding maniac had just attempted to kill the Hutt, in his own home. He could see anger flaring, and several of the scum fired at Vica, several others opting to take cover behind tables, the two in the corner seemingly unconscious through substance abuse. Grabbing the Guard he had held back, Nor’baal held them in from of his as a human/pig shield, whilst moving toward the exit.

EDIT: Ripper exchanged for Blaster, after I was informed the Ripper is no longer allowed for use.

 

[Vica Veszk]

Absolute chaos. In mere moments, the lounge transformed from a peaceful, albeit somewhat suspicious place to one populated by the sounds of blaster fire and screaming. It wasn't a surprise, really - her attack on the Hutt's life, while no doubt a surprise to the assembled crowd, wasn't exactly the stealthiest of assassinations. It could've been if she wanted it to be, but sometimes it was just as important to send a very clear, very loud message to the scummier denizens of the galaxy as it was to take a life. And as the terrified patrons squeezed off a few wild blaster bolts to cover their awkward, mad dashes toward the exit, it appeared as though that message came through loud and clear: if they wanted to collect the Imperial bounty on her head, then they would have to deal with a severely abbreviated life span in attempting to do so.

As the guards opened fire - and given the trajectory of their shots, it seemed as though they were aiming for the ceiling or the walls, rather than the woman on the floor - the Levistring continued to work toward its programmed goal. With the Hutt's skin split, it wriggled in to attack the creature's subcutaneous fat directly less than a second after the wound appeared, ensuring that the next two minutes - before the microrepulsors faded into uselessness - would be indescribably painful for the slug-like creature, if not fatal. Even if she wanted to stop it, there was nothing she could do: the object was completely out of her control, hell-bent on flossing away the fat beneath the corpulent creature's skin.

Rather than deflect the inaccurate shots that came her way, Vica willed her thrown saber to make a quick, tight loop of the room, the teal blade making easy work of the offending guards as it passed through their bodies. One lost his hands, another his head, and the third was simply split in two. Holding her ground, she removed the second saber from her belt and tossed it toward the Hutt and his guard with the same Force-assisted speed and accuracy as she had the first, albeit with a slightly different technique. Igniting it in mid-air, she threw it toward the Hutt's center mass as he attempted escape, knowing damn well that no number of porcine meat shields could stop the javelin of burning plasma from hitting it's mark. It was a device that could cut through metal like butter - what chance did either of them truly have?

 

[Nor'baal]

A sudden explosion of violence, which he had not predicted, came as something of a shock to the Hutt, who winced yet again as the Levistring came back for round two. Lashing out with his trusty shock-prod, the corpulent being struck at it, knocking it away and zapping it with the electronic charge of his device. He could barely hear himself think, let alone expect his guards to follow orders due to the furor in the room, the outrage and terror in equal measure that had struck the assembled masses. Tables where overturned, making makeshift barricades, and two smugglers fell to the shots coming from the Pig-Like Guards of the Hutt, and one even fell to a shot from the Hutt himself.

Fear gripped the room, it's inhabitants surging toward Vica in a frenzy, seeking to flee through the door behind her. Desperate to escape, the scum of the Galaxy focusing more on trying to escape the light-saber wielding assailant in their midst that protecting their pay-master. Some of the smugglers even tried to throw their comrades at Vica, in an attempt to distract her from halting their own attempts to escape.

Of course, Nor'baals attentions focused elsewhere, as he heard the lightsaber of Vica slicing down three of his Guards, one of which screaming at the loss of his hands, before the second, flung at him like a spear, passed through several of the fleeing crowd, slowing down as it eventually collided with the last remaining Guard, impaling it in the heart. The Hutt himself had no time to leap to the assistance of his Guardians - neither would he have wanted to - as he slithered to the blast door behind his throne, passing through and sealing it behind him, just in time to hear the mortified squeal of his last remaining Guard, who fell prey not only to the saber, but also to the stampeding feet of the crowd.

Behind the door, the Hutt began to make his way down the corridor toward his hanger, only to find on of the smugglers had snuck in behind him. ''You gotta get me out here man!'' stammered the smuggler, a gun levelled at the Hutt. Nor'baal lashed out wish his prod, stabbing the man in the eye with it, but not before two shots struck the Hutts torso, leaving cruel burn marks. Collapsing to the floor, the smuggler twitched a few times and Nor'baal turned away, sealing another blast floor behind him as he entered the next stage of the tunnel.

 

[Vica Veszk]

Vica had always enjoyed the roar and din of the swoop track. She wasn't given for many visceral pleasures in the galaxy and being a fugitive tended to dim even those remaining in her ambit. So it was with a sort of childlike glee that - after duly dispatching the Slug "Lord's" (we all have our delusions after all) guards - that she kept track of the race between the elderly, corpulent (was it even possible for a Hutt to have gout? How did one tell?) bit of suppurating flesh and the gleaming union of plasma and steel that were her two lightsabers.

They had gained more than a body length on him and the Force, as the saying went was a powerful (and speedy) ally.

Did his slime trail just pick up a bit? Yes. The Hutt went slightly faster. A few moments more, and he might even reach the doorway.

Her sabers closed in.

The rest was rather predictable.

But just to be sure, the former Darth extended her left arm and unleashed a torrent of electrical energy, propelling a web of Force-generated, hate-fueled lightning toward the undoubtedly bisected slug. The stench would be god awful, she knew, but one thought resonated among all the rest: better to be safe than sorry.

 

[Nor'baal]

(OOC: Since Bee didn't give me a chance to edit out the involvement of the panicked bystanders in my last post, to anyone reading, disregard their use in that post please. Since there were no other objections, everything else stands, of course.)

Two thuds heralded the arrival of the light-sabers into the first set of doors behind him, followed by what sounded like a roaring sound - almost like thunder, as the force lightening attack struck next. Nor'baal hastened his escape, continuing into the hanger itself, and slithering up the ramp to his shuttle, bellowing for the Droid piloting unit to take off; the shuttle started gathering speed and lifting off as he did so.

His mind was still racing, a combination of pain and shock from the days events. Vica had no reason to attack him, unless she had found away to break through his species resistance to the Force, and the sheer brutality of her attack was unprecedented. His wounds hurt, and would need seeing to as soon as his vessel was away.

The ramp closed behind him, and the Hutt tottered slightly before righting himself

 

[Green Ranger]

ADMIN: This thread has been concluded by ruling. Please see the OOC thread (The Art of the Deal OOC) for more details.