- Joined
- Jun 26, 2011
- Messages
- 97
- Reaction score
- 0
There he sat. Almost 50 feet from Rivan. Sitting in the nice, leather chair, sipping at some type of drink that could not be recognized from here. He was a target, a mark, someone that needed to die. Rivan didn't know why, nor did he care. He was being paid for the assassination, and thats what counted in the long run. The man was surrounded. 3 men, around the table, staring right back at the laughing target. 5 more guards sweeped around the bar, looking for anything suspicious. They wore civilian clothes, and to anyone else, they'd look normal. But their overly cautious eyes, and sneers told a much different story.
Tatooine was home to much of the scum and villainy in this galaxy. Smugglers, pirates, scum collected here, like flys to a bright light. Ever since the dawn of time, man has wanted man dead. And what better way to do it then through a stranger. Rivan surmised that he could be looked at as Scum. Refined, nicer looking Scum, but scum, nonetheless. It took a special kind of man to wrench away a family man due to a debt or political jab.
Toying with his fingers, Rivan took a deep breath in. Rivan was seated near a back corner, with a long, black robe covering his figure. His skin was mottled, and cold, something that didn't feel right in this sandy world. His hood up and his hands on his lap, he was quiet, and knew the guards were watching him. He was not exactly blending in with his environment. The cantina life continued around them, as bar-maids went about their business and bartenders laughed at their drunken patrons. The heavy, thick smog that filled the room was intoxicating, as was the smell. With a central bar in the middle of the room, and several tables strewn about, it was a small cantina.
Rivan had guessed someone had tipped the Mark off. After all, no one that fears for their life brings 5 guards with them everywhere they go. That was just absurd. The mans paranoia was obvious, and the guards walked about, like dogs looking for prey. They were freelance mercenaries, that part was a fact. Rivan looked around to find or see anything that could benefit him. The band was playing a solid tune, and wouldn't change up for some time. The bar was quiet but would occasionally be assaulted with laughter from patrons. Rivans eyes fell upon the Target, who was sipping yet again. It was his third drink in a row and his dizziness was an obvious side effect from the alcohol. Soon, he would need another drink.
Rivan did nothing however. He sat in his seat, and quiet moved up as if stretching. 3 of the 5 guards snapped their heads at him, watched and then returned to their stalking. After stretching, Rivan yawned. Actually yawned. Was he this bored? His eyes passed over the man, who was slowly starting to get up from his seat, his mug in hand. He was going to the bar. Rivan got up as well, and started to move towards the exit. If timed correctly, he would cross paths with the man right as he was leaving.
All he had to do was time it perfectly.
Tatooine was home to much of the scum and villainy in this galaxy. Smugglers, pirates, scum collected here, like flys to a bright light. Ever since the dawn of time, man has wanted man dead. And what better way to do it then through a stranger. Rivan surmised that he could be looked at as Scum. Refined, nicer looking Scum, but scum, nonetheless. It took a special kind of man to wrench away a family man due to a debt or political jab.
Toying with his fingers, Rivan took a deep breath in. Rivan was seated near a back corner, with a long, black robe covering his figure. His skin was mottled, and cold, something that didn't feel right in this sandy world. His hood up and his hands on his lap, he was quiet, and knew the guards were watching him. He was not exactly blending in with his environment. The cantina life continued around them, as bar-maids went about their business and bartenders laughed at their drunken patrons. The heavy, thick smog that filled the room was intoxicating, as was the smell. With a central bar in the middle of the room, and several tables strewn about, it was a small cantina.
Rivan had guessed someone had tipped the Mark off. After all, no one that fears for their life brings 5 guards with them everywhere they go. That was just absurd. The mans paranoia was obvious, and the guards walked about, like dogs looking for prey. They were freelance mercenaries, that part was a fact. Rivan looked around to find or see anything that could benefit him. The band was playing a solid tune, and wouldn't change up for some time. The bar was quiet but would occasionally be assaulted with laughter from patrons. Rivans eyes fell upon the Target, who was sipping yet again. It was his third drink in a row and his dizziness was an obvious side effect from the alcohol. Soon, he would need another drink.
Rivan did nothing however. He sat in his seat, and quiet moved up as if stretching. 3 of the 5 guards snapped their heads at him, watched and then returned to their stalking. After stretching, Rivan yawned. Actually yawned. Was he this bored? His eyes passed over the man, who was slowly starting to get up from his seat, his mug in hand. He was going to the bar. Rivan got up as well, and started to move towards the exit. If timed correctly, he would cross paths with the man right as he was leaving.
All he had to do was time it perfectly.