Transgression at the Crimson Flux

[Miranda]

Gangway to egress to alley to avenue to the first slumping markets that clawed ascending from the abyss. It had been night forever. The bazaars that encrusted the sewer's plummeting edge had grown like fungal blooms around her in the dark. Chaya lurched. She pitched in a yawning current of sentient detritus; criminals, riffraff, urchins.
In front, her Gossam rickshaw driver tugged miserably at his rudder and the vessel corrected. Light wallowed as the lantern careened. The Gossam was afraid of her. She leant out from the lounge of the small vehicle across the murky weight of the crowds, peering back into thoroughfare shadows.
Over the oily thunder of the skyward foundries and the peregrine crooning of merchants and the shifting trudges of aliens, nightclub sounds were building. Alloys reverberated with bass and walls hammered and floors oscillated to fill space; the tens of clubs and cantinas had become hundreds, thousands; they transfused and expanded backwards from the markets and shed scintillant, fluorescent light from all across the Coruscant underbelly.

They surrounded her. They were growing. They were towering, and swelling, and roaring, their slanted roofs of durasteel, their walls of unyielding permacrete.
The rickshaw turned to confront the promenade that loomed suddenly, immense, stamped on the cityscape. Its fluorescence welled up around the streets like bruise-blood. Uscru. Its neon towers flared up in conflagration. Chaya was reduced. She was compelled to worship the colossal presence that had silted its way into presence at the conjunction of vast undercity routes. It was a monstrous pollutant, a villainous stench, a corrupt seed that bulged into poisonous tree with buttress roots extending to every corner of the Coruscant inferno.
It was not the current of the crowds that pulled her, but the undercity itself, its fat gravity had sucked her in. Indistinct shouts, here and there the bronchial rasps and shucking of beasts, the profane clashes and thundering of industry as huge machinery trenched. Skyrails marked urban anatomy like annealed arteries. Rust-red and bleeding walls, hunched temples like primitive things, clotted mazes, culs-de-sac, sewers swamping blackened sidestreets like pluvial sepulchres, a forlorn urbanscape of tangle, crushed metal, old medbays, phosphorescent placards, starships and metallic wraiths that lifted cargoes from the abyss.

It is too late to flee.

Lantern wires stretched limp across the avenue, held fast by unseen supports and dribbled with cloudy aggregates of alien phlegm. They hummed like hydroharp strings. Something scuttled overhead. The rickshaw Gossam hawked fetid spit into the sewer puddles. His gob dissolved. Narrow streets emerged. Chaya looked south and then east, her eyes following lines of lamplight surged away and consumed by the nightland. Cranes reared from the dusk like skeletal fingers, here and there they jolted, keeping their twilight crews in their wake. Chains swung deadweight like broken limbs, fracturing into phantasmal motion where cogs contracted and flywheels burst.
The Gossam murmured to Chaya and told her where they were. She did not acknowledge him. She knew. The Crimson Flux, a brutalized maw of depravity and crime (one of many in the underlevels). She alighted from the rickshaw and tossed the cobalt skinned saurian driver several credits for fare, and with that his frail form was once again enveloped in the riptide throng of the masses.
Chaya followed the club's neon outlines toward its colonnade, tracking the arches that anchored it to the other buildings, like a limpet to rock. She stalked in the shadows of the building's west alley, her fuliginous cloak tugged at her as she settled her purse close to breast. That is what protected her in such a place, that, and the illusion she had cultivated. An inner anguish that had brought her to Coruscant. To that underscape dreamed up of blood and bone, a conspiracy of industry, violence, and transgression, steeped in history and eclipsed power, the badlands beyond any reckoning.
Sparking a cigarillo she inhaled a gray cloud vehemently and sighed, glanced down at her chronometer and eventually made her way past the bouncers of the Crimson Flux. Once inside, Chaya touched the club's host on the shoulder, "table service...I'll be over there", she inclined with her head to a corner booth and proceeded.
A full vista of the club's central level sprawled before her. Who could say how long the senses of the Mynock or the eyes of the Nexu would require to ascertain the totality of such a nightscape? Or whether in a savant instant the ostensibly confused would shift into envisaged insight, shapes and colours and objects falling into some perception as an ordered and discernible pattern in relation to the unified environment? Her surroundings, through her eyes, did just that. And while she scrutinised the outlay of the Crimson Flux, she waited impassively for the others to join her...

 

[Saint]

Being the Crime Shadow for the Crime Lord on Coruscant had its advantages to be sure. I could name them all, but it would only be read as blah, blah, blah, look how awesome I have it, blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately for Deacon Nash, it also came with some chores; matters that he didn't really care to see to but had to. Tonite was another one of those nights. Aside from not being able to simply sit back and relax in his usual booth at the Outlander's Club, Deacon would have to spend the evening in a lower-class establishment. The Crimson Flux.

As usual, his aide was with him, as was a thunder-walking meathead whose mere visage was enough to dissuade those who had even an inkling of an idea to bring harm or any sort of malice towards the direction of the one Deacon Nash. Making small talk as they walked, Deke spoke with his aide on a great number of things during their descent into the lower underbelly of the city-planet, Coruscant. Most of it regarding business other than their intent and purpose down in the Crimson Flux.

Upon entering the dimly-lit establishment, Deacon regretted the decision to leave his quarter-mask back in his domicile almost immediately. Krath, it even -smelled- bad in here. Worse than that bar over in the Industrial sector. What was it called? The Duracrete Slug or something? He couldn't remember exactly; nor did he really want to. That mission which he had recruitred for there had gone well enough, but it was the fact that they were crapping in their own feed trough that had turned him off from it initially. However, in the end, Deacon had been able to turn it into something positive, though he would've preferred to do so utilizing different methods.

Pausing by the alien humanoid who supposedly passed for a Host in this -fine- establishment, Deke muttered to himself as he ignored the host's greeting, "Now which one is she..." His gaze passed searchingly over the numerous, unwashed patrons a couple of times, before finally resting on a back booth where a woman sat all by her lonesome. She didn't appear to be fully human, but rather some sort of blue-skinned humanoid. "Well," he began as he straightened out his vest and started to make his way towards her table, "let's see where this takes us."

With that, he approached the blue lady's table and paused alongside it before just assuming to take a seat. Dipping his forehead lightly in a bow of sorts, Deacon greeted her, "Good evening then. Deacon Nash." Gesturing towards an empty spot oppposite of her, he inquired, "Mind if I sit?" Just because Deke was in an environment he didn't care for... or more precisely, actually despised, didn't mean that he had to let it affect his personality and manners. He quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at the blue lady as he awaited a response, laying a hand atop the back of the chair.

 

[Miranda]

Corpulent predatory shadows prowled the byways and catwalks on fringes of the cesspit club. Chaya removed her gravid cloak, flinging it across the booth-lounge next to her. She lit another dim cigarillo. Inhaled fervently.
There was a boom, a reverberation, as if the Crimson Flux had a hollow core. Migrant rhythms and music perhaps from the lower levels. How many floors did this filth den inhabit? An engine on the wall slowed, coughed. She turned to watch men behind her, who averted their eyes and steered, affecting to look through her. She exhaled with nonchalance.
Chaya's gaze relocated back to her surveillance of the establishment. She saw Coruscant in a compound visual cacophony. A million tiny sections of the whole coalescing into a comprehensive model that could be deciphered in some way or another, and for one purpose or multiple. Most of these sentients fundamentally never bothered to see as she did. The extensive detail of surroundings. And those who irregularly did, were her type of kin.
And yet in all her introspection concerning local schematics she had failed to notice a man inspecting her from the entrance. Nor had she noticed his approach.
She had only caught drift of his name, 'Deacon Nash', and Chaya felt, as if suddenly, without warning, she was in a very different world from the execrable, game-playing, absonant mess that was now the peripheral club.
"Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Nash...please, have a seat", she took a slow drag of her smoke as a Nautolan barmaid sauntered over to their table, "ambrostine...", she nodded to the serving girl, her eyes diverted to Nash to see what he would order, if anything, in such a dive.
"Chaya Talavara, it's quite the honour Mr. Nash...but tell me, what is a man of your 'capacity' doing in a hellhole such as this?" her accent rippled with Saleucami phonetics.
She had expected a minor cartel of freelancers to meet her here, seeking work for opportunities to 'break through' the membrane of the underworld syndicates, make a name for themselves. She certainly couldn't have expected the upper eschelon to take interest, and none other than the very fist of the undercity's Kingpin himself. She could only assume that her 'advertisement' had attracted some attention, but of course, nothing passed through the net of the Crime Shadow undetected.
"I am going to make an assumption...", she stubbed her cigarillo out in an alloy tray and leant back into the sofa, "you...and/or your boss, caught wind of my broadcast? Let me assure you, my intentions were never to tread on your syndicate's toes. Quite the converse, actually." .
The reverberations of the club fuelled frenzies in the background, beyond their reserved conversation. That hollow Chaya felt in the club earlier had grown and seemed more impending, but it equally died as quickly as its booming thuds came. She inspected Deacon Nash more intuitively then, once the formalities were engaged. What catch of fate had brought this criminal major to be seated across from her? Chaya could only intrinsically yearn for his approval, rather than fury, in those brief minutes before he spoke to her again.

 

[Saint]

"Galaxy Rush," Deacon replied as the shapely Nautolan barmaid made an unspoken inquiry regarding his drink selection. Taking his head, he dismissed the guardian brute that had accompanied him to the establishment, giving him a wave of his hand that indicated to him that he may do what he wished. Most likely, that would be sitting at the bar and downing a few drinks while putting off a rough and tumble demeanor, just -waiting- to get into a brawl and deliver the pain to some arrogant azzhole.

As the blue woman spoke, Chaya Talavara by name, Deacon focused his attentions on her until the drinks arrived. "Thank-you," he stated simply to the barmaid as he gave her a half-smile, dipping his forehead in an appreciative nod of sorts as he took up his frosted glass. Taking a drink as he awaited the Nautolan's departure, Deke quite enjoyed this new drink that Blythe had introduced him to. Indeed, a new favorite, and it lacked the intensity of the Tatooine Sunrise.

Lowering his chilled glass to the table as his gaze turned from the drink to Chaya, Deacon replied somewhat coldly, "The path t'Hades is paved with good intentions Miss Talavara." Lifting his chin, he quirked an inquisitive eyebrow as he inquired, "Tell me, do you intend to shet in your own feed trough, or do you seek to simply base yourself here, while operating elsewhere?" He studied her looks for a few moments as he awaited a response.

Her outfit revealed a good taste of cleavage which drew Deacon's eyes, naturally. It seemed she knew how to play the cards she'd been dealt. Clearing his throat as he lifted his gaze once again to her facial features, Deke continued as he gestured vaguely with one hand, turning it over as he explained, "Because I'll tell you now, that if you plan on shetting in -my- feed trough, I shall personally make it my business to terminate such activities."

Gaze locking on hers in a most sincere look, Deacon added, "By whatever means necessary." Holding it for a few moments, he meant for his point to sink in before breaking the silence. Turning his head to one side as he tilted it somewhat, he continued with, "Of course, if you're seeking the guidance and protection of the Black Sun, then that's somethin' else entirely." Glancing back over his shoulder at his brute-thug sitting at the bar, Deke waited a second before turning his attention back to the Pantoran.

If she sought the guidance and protection of the Black Sun, then there would be an interview of sorts with varied questions of all types, ranging from skills and abilities, to preferences and possessions. Tapping a lone finger atop the table as he lifted his glass up just before his chin, Deacon quirked an eyebrow as he made his final inquiry, "So what's it t'be Miss Chaya Talavara?" Taking a long drink, he kept his attentive gaze focused solely upon her, awaiting a response.

 

[Allu'rah Danan]

As hypnotic as the music and lights in the club were, Daesha left the dance floor reluctantly to seek refreshment at the bar upstairs. It was a little disorienting, trying to navigate through the maze of bodies and tables as the fluorescent lights were captured in mid-air by the cloud of smoke floating around its patrons. The Grey Gabaki burning throughout the club was not so much part of the atmosphere as it was a precaution. The deeper down a club on this planet was, the more dangerous the patrons tended to be. This held true for the Crimson Flux. The fumes from the burning spice generally helped to relax cantina patrons, but here it really just lessened the frequency of customers stabbing the waitresses for mixing up their orders.

The Togruta finally found her way to the stairs spiralling up to the bar level, and was torn between leaning on the sticky railing to take some weight off her bad leg or sucking it up and ignoring the ache. The slimy Mon Calamari that came staggering down before her helped her decide, and so she limped up the stairs unaided. Leaning against the bar brought her some relief, however, even if it also was more sticky that she would have desired. "Whaddya want?" the barman finally grumbled at her."

"Juri juice for me," Daesha said, flashing him a toothy smile. She drummed her fingers on the countertop as she waiting for her drink to arrive, and handed the barman a few credit chips when it did. The sweet, chilled liquor was refreshing, especially with the heat emanating from so many sweaty, unwashed persons. Daesha caught one in particular, a huge, hulking monster of a man, staring at her chest two seats down. The thug didn't appear to be the sharpest, and didn't pick up on the scowl she sent his way, forcing the Togruta to vocalize her displeasure.

"Hey you!" she snapped at the man. "Yes, you, the great colossus. Get those bug eyes of yours back in your head or else I promise I'll cut 'em out!"

 

[Miranda]

The nightclub air was thick with noise now. The challenges, the shouts, the invitations and temptations and dares sounded around the intoxicated groups like bursting aerostats. Light-jets mixed with chemicals, burnt red, green, blue, and sulfur yellow. The durasteel plated floors of the Crimson Flux were sticky with spilt liquor and humanoid sweat. Vermin scampered from the skirts of the bar into the dark recesses of walls clutching choice morsels.
The crowd was a moving stew of Human and Rodian, Dug, Ubese, and other, stranger species, Devaronian, Ithorian and Clawdite and Gamorrean and races the names of which Chaya did not know.
A few yards out from the table where she sat with Deacon Nash, the heavy rhythms of the club were absolute. Behind them on the walls splayed arrays of contraptions of bolted bronzium, garishley painted durasteel and hissing lights. The Nautolan server girl departed, returned, departed again. Chaya tasted the ambrostine, noting its questionable aftertaste, and then regarded the intractable tone in Nash's voice.

"My plan, Mr. Nash is yet forthcoming. I have no desire...nor need, to defecate anywhere near you or your associates, rest assured."
She still wondered how he had found her. What had brought him here to this mire on a fringe of the underworld highways? This dust-racket that was not so criminally palatial as the infamous Outlander Club on Vos Gesal Street. Usually, in the crime world, in the clenching bowels of Coruscant, messages and broadcasts were encoded and relayed between agents by-proxy; small time hoods heard it from drug dealers; costermongers told it to decayed gentlemen; medics with dubious records got it from part-time bouncers, all originating from a comm-source or holo transmission. Thus, Chaya had conjectured that her 'broadcast' in the interim would harbinger at least a couple of decent agents to her project. Now, the very Deacon Nash, was having a drink, and a few implacable words with her. He could either smash her aspiration, or aid her like no one else possibly could. She would have to play this out, regardless of consequence. She could feel that scarlet cybernetic eye rail right through her.
"Do not allow me to misrepresent myself. I certainly don't frequent the likes of this joint on a regular basis...", she locked her attention solely upon him and lowered her voice, almost sultry,"word in the underbelly is that the filthy Besalisk that owns this place, Vaxas Singo, is in cohorts with an offworld cartel. He's been smuggling in narcotics and arms and utilising this club as a laundering point", she took a long drawn-out sip of her ambrostine and continued, "I don't imagine your people take too kindly to undercutting, Mr. Nash".Her gaze wandered to his face to register a response. Something she could never hope to gauge with this enigmatic man.
"So, essentially, my plan was to inspect this flimsy 'cover' place, and make a recovery of the aforementioned merchandise. Then proceed to return them to your company's rightful belonging. What better way to draw the Black Sun's eye than express my talents on intermediary turf? Consider it my unorthodox manner of a job interview, Mr. Nash."
Initially, this was her intention. But now the Crime Shadow himself had come knocking at her door. The need for the middle-man seemed pointless in the current predicament. She would have to garner his respect somehow, but would he get involved in her little exploit, or merely stamp it out with a vexatious boot? Chaya concentrated on her beverage, perturbed, as if awaiting some final evaluation.

 

[Saint]

Genghis, Deacon's mountain of muscle, grinned crookedly at the Togruta, revealing a shiny gold tooth along with his lustful intent. Gesturing with a meaty hand towards her shapely form, the brute replied, "When on display, I look." Certainly he wasn't the most eloquent of speakers, but what he lacked in vocabulary and wit, he more than made up for in muscle and grit. Turning away from Daesha, he added, "I leave you be pretty thing, 'less you want rent me some time." He patted at his back pocket as if to suggest that he'd be willing to pay for her... attentions.
----------------------------------
((Meanwhile, back at the ranch...))
Deacon had been made aware of the situation down in the Crimson Flux sometime ago, yet on his list of priorities, it wasn't exactly at the top. Between the assassination of a Hutt Marquis, the kidnapping and ransom of a Senator, and other projects demanding his attentions and personal touch, he had yet been able to see to this scheming Besalisk issue. It was true enough that he needed to be dealt with though, as nobody would be allowed to run operations without the blessing (and due homage) of the Black Sun.

Glancing over his shoulder towards the bar area, Deke focused his attentions momentarily on the Besalisk as he thought for a bit. He still hadn't time to deal with him properly. Coming here was killing two birds with one stone. Scout work on the joint and a determination on this Pantoran before him. Tapping his finger atop the table, he turned about as he replied, "Tell you what, you remove 'im an' take over operations 'ere in this cantina, I'll grant you twenty percent of the net income."

He probably would've gone twenty-five, but he doubted that she was really interested in taking over, planting roots and growing the business. Holding up a finger, he further added, "Or, you remove 'im an' turn operations over t'me, an' I'll see you take five percent of the net income this fiscal year." Either way, if she took Deacon up on either offer, Black Sun would come out on top without pledging any resources; only gaining profit.

Perhaps taking a life wasn't her game though. The thought hit him after a moment. She had stated that she was going to, essentialy, steal his inventory and turn it over to the Black Sun. Well, that would work too. Holding up a hand, he stopped the Pantoran before she could say another word, "Or lastly, you carry on with your operation, keep what you like so long as you offer a bit of tribute, an' I'll then see about approachin' him an' offerin' him some... protection."

Grinning broadly now, he glanced over his shoulder as he added, "For a price, of course." It was clear that for a price meant that he would have the Besalisk pay a hefty tribute to the Black Sun. If one were to seek out Deacon Nash and his blessing FIRST, then the percent of tribute was greatly reduced. For those who thought they could sneak one by the Black Sun, and continually do so, their price went up, exponentially.

Once again, no matter which way this played out, it would do the Crime Shadow well and only further his case with the higher ups in his run for Sector Overlord. He turned his attentions back to the Pantoran before him. Furrowing his brow a bit, he inquired, "Choice is your's Miss Talavara. Unless you care to make a counter offer." He rubbed his thumb along his bearded jawline, studying her features as he awaited a response.

So far, she seemed fairly intelligent, having a good way with words. She'd proven resourceful as well, somehow uncovering the information on the Besalisk. Good initiative likewise. It was a shame that Deacon had been forced to come down to see her, rather than the other way around, but for the time being, the Crime Shadow wasn't going to hold it against her... too much.

 

[Miranda]

A tenacious, accomplished sentient in the Coruscant underworld could drive a spike down in three strikes. Chaya always aimed to strike in one. She had cumulated an array of skills in the felonious vestiges of Saleucami and its caldera-based criminality. She could talk about the 'business' like reading from a militia manual on warfare, could blast a man between the eyes for merely standing between her and her remuneration, could slither unnoticed into backwater gangways; the illicit and immoral trends of the galaxy were imbued in her blood. Yet that was merely clandestine, petty crime in ratio to the recondite dealings of the Black Sun and its operatives.
Chaya longed to be part of something that could mould her more than simple street crime-craft. Deacon Nash was her opportune ticket.
"I'm a tech-specialist, Mr. Nash. And while I admit that your first offer is somewhat arousing, I doubt I have the propensity to oversee this squalid dump. I'm not prone to careless or lamentable activity, as much as I would love to take-out the burrowing slime with a blaster, I think my expertise would be better suited to a more...'refined' course of action, if you register my meaning?". Her gaze drifted over to the Besalisk, as if he were catching drift of their conversation from a far. The chaos of the place was enough to guarantee that their conversation, however, was hardly audible from even a few feet away.
She sparked a cigarillo, offering Nash one from the elegant metal case which held her store. The artistically inscribed carton had been a gift from her previous beau who had been decapitated by the competition on her homeworld. It was a flagrant reminder of the cards she had been dealt.
"With your permission, I would prefer to use my talents to smack Vaxas Singo where it bleeds. If I can assemble a decent collective with the skills I require, I'm confident that I can have the merchandise in your hands by the end of the week."
Chaya paused for a moment, seemingly deliberating over something the Crime Shadow had just said, "I'm a professional Mr. Nash, I have no requirement for the cargo's contents. It's all yours. I do however require a chance to secure a position within the Black Sun. If my efforts are successful, of course."
She finished her liquor and delicately drew in her cigarillo smoke with stolid efficacy, blue-grey puffs traced her lips as she spoke. She knew if she could prove fielty to Nash's association then her proverbial foot would be in their door.
"I highly doubt someone of your stature would want to get involved in such a menial task, but you're more than welcome to contribute to the project as you see fit. I'm still awaiting a response from keen freelancers, hence my being here in the first place, however, once I assemble a worthy team your discernible input would be most appreciated".. The cunning Pantoran wasn't entirely sure that the Crime Shadow himself would want to be directly involved with a covert heist such as she had planned. He would still receive the entire percentage of profit without having to get his hands dirty in the slightest. Chaya hoped instead that he would find the project itself intriguing and appealing enough to his unlawful senses to involve him and whet his appetite. It would, however subtle the task, be riddled and punctured with risk. Something which talented criminal minds such as Chaya could very rarely refuse.

 

[Allu'rah Danan]

Daesha's temper was sparked at the meat-head's first comment, and was sent ripping by the second and it's follow-up gesture. She marched over to the man who topped even her full height, including montrals, by at least a foot and a half, and who was probably thrice as big around as she. His arms could easily have been four of hers, but that didn't stop her from smacking him to get his attention again. "Maybe if you had the manners to buy me a drink first, I wouldn't mind you staring so openly," the Togruta hissed venomously. "And maybe if I found you to be charming or witty enough, I might think about an evening back aboard my ship. But since I am not some two-credit Twi'lek whore, and since your have neither done the first nor are you the second, I guess you can have a drink on me!" The remaining half a glass' worth of juri juice flew from her vessel and into the giant, sneering face so far above her own, and she kicked him in the shins with as much force as she could muster.

Even though she tried to duck away into the crowd, Daesha's cry of agony as the gigantic man forcefully grabbed her by the posterior headtail ripped through the bar. That vice-like grip made her eyes water and her teeth clench, all but blinding in the seering pain as she was reeled back in by her lekku. "You should learn your place, alien bitch," growled the insulted thug. The Togruta did the only thing she could think to do, and smashed her empty mug over the human's mammoth head. She heard him grunt, and his hold on her ever tender lekku vanished. The excruciating pain reduced to smarting throbs that still made her head spin, but at least she could see again. What she saw was the semi-dazed gangster incredulously wiping blood and alcohol from his brow. With a roar, Daesha lept up on him, sinking her long fangs into his cheek, even piercing the tender skin under his eye. The coppery taste of blood flooded into her mouth and down her throat, but she suppressed a gag and bit harder. A heavy blow to her montrals was enough to stun her as all her spacial awareness was turned to a shaking blur, dropping her to the floor.

"Whore!" bellowed the mobster. One of his plate-sized hands wrapped around the Togruta's slender neck and hauled her into the air, her feet dangling eight inches from the ground and her airway completely cut off. "Poisonous little slut! I show you what happens to cantina rats who think to be bigger than Black Sun!" He looked even more terrifying than before, with blood streaming down from his hairline, his cheek, and below his rapidly swelling eye. His slick hair was completely disheveled, and his clothes rumpled and stained. His massive hand continued crushing Daesha's windpipe despite her clawing at his massive arm and her rather feeble kicks at his knees. Her scrabbling fingers drew only the slightest bit of blood from his hands, until her forearm brushed her necklace. Darkness was creeping in around the edges of her vision, and in a desperate bid for survival, she grasped the long akul fang and plunged it twice into the back of the giant hand. It released its hold on her person again, and for the second time she dropped, catching herself on the counter as she gasped for breath. The gangster was quick to recover however, and smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. Her bottom lip split open instantly, and the stinging in her nose made her eyes water as it too began gushing blood. "Bitch!" he snarled viciously as he heaved back to smack her again. Daesha managed to get a guard up this time, taking the blow across her forearms, but it still carried enough weight to cause a considerable amount of pain. That was definitely going to bruise. Ducking his next blow, Daesha delivered a few quick jabs to his ribs, but it was like bunching a durasteel wall. He caught her by the arm, and though a quick knee to the groin certainly made him suck in a breath sharply and groan, he also managed to grab her leg. With a thundering roar, the giant hoisted the flailing Togruta over his head and threw her, sending her crashing into an Aqualish and a Rodian almost fifteen feet away.

Daesha groaned. Everything was hurting, everything was throbbing and spinning. She had not a whisper of breath that hadn't been knocked from her lungs on impact, and she was choking on blood to boot. The disgruntled aliens shoved her off as they regained their feet, drawing blasters on the gargantuan human, who threw a stool this time to knock them back down and keep them down. The break of his attention was all Daesha needed to work a breath into her lungs, as well as to pull a knife from a hidden sheath in her boot. She didn't move as the man lumbered over to her, kicking her in the side so as to roll her onto her back. Great, bruised or possibly cracked ribs was clearly what she needed to add to the list of sustained injuries. As he pressed his massive foot into her chest, the Togruta struck, stabbing the stubby blade into the man's monstrously large thigh and pressing the button on the hilt that forced the concentrated dose of Sedative H4b from its housing chamber into the hollow blade, through the several holes in its tip and into the gangster's bloodstream. He yelped from the wound, and gave her another kick. Yup, those ribs were cracked for sure. She rolled with the blow though, and once she was about two meters from his feet, looked back over her shoulder. The thug looked mildly surprised as he wavered on the spot, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. He collapsed face first with an impressive thud that was audible even over the beats of the music downstairs. Her chest heaving, Daesha groaned as she leaned back, propped up against a boot seat. Her head tilted back, and she glimpsed a familiarly sinister red eye looking back down at her.

"Hey Beacon," she said dumbly, trying to force a swollen smile up at him. "Whabbre ya ap ta bown 'ere?"

 

[Saint]

Waving off the offer for a cigarillo, Deacon focused his attentions solely on the Pantoran before him as he listened to her explain her intentions. Her desires seemed forthright enough, bypassing the offer of goods hoping that in exchange, she might secure a position within the Black Sun. Already he liked her. Her priorities were in order and she knew her strengths as well as what she wanted. Excellent. Most Excellent. Coming here tonite wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Seemingly confident enough, Deacon went on to inquire as he quirked his one eyebrow, "You require a chance?" Grunting a bit humoredly to himself as he adjusted his posture, leaning forward as he rested his forearms atop the table and canted his head to one side, "Dare I inquire as to the nature of what punishment would befall me should I feel disinclined to acquiesce to your request?"

Speaking of which, he had made an offer to her regarding what goods she was able to recover, but as it turned out, she worded it in such a way as though she might have required them of him for her services. Bold... though perhaps ill-advised. She seemed like one who was use to being in control, making demands, not making requests, or following orders for that matter. He could appreciate the way she thought and spoke; now if that translated into capability was another thing entirely to be seen.

Shaking his head lightly as he held up a hand, he further added, "I've no need to be involved in such an operation. If you are t'prove yourself, my interference would only serve to muddy the outcome as opposed to allowing your own talents and abilities to shine through unmolested and untainted by my own advice." He glanced briefly over his shoulder, finally noting an altercation between his brute and... Daesha? How humorous...

When the Togruta wound up nearly at the foot of their table, Deacon gestured towards her as he addressed Miss Talavara, "Allow me to introduce Miss Daesha. A capable pilot and sharpshooter." Speaking in an aside to Chaya, he went on, "She's capable enough, though at times has rather... questionable judgment." Quirking a crooked grin back at the Togruta, he leaned over, offering her a hand up as he inquired with a quirked eyebrow, "Buy you a drink?"

He'd intentionally not mentioned Chaya Talavara's name, nor Daesha's last name, as it was a courtesy of his not to speak the names of his associates outright to newcomers. In this line of work, privacy, professionalism, and mutual respect was needed. Or at least, as much as could be afforded anyway. There were times when points simply had to be made. Like with that filthy Bothan some time ago...

 

[Miranda]

Vaxas Singo was disgruntled at the Togruta and stocky human who seemed to be having an altercation in his joint, "yo dake eet outside bishwags", he waved his multi-limbs at them, quickly gave up on his futile protest, and turned back to the cocktail he was mixing. Owning a lower-class club like the Crimson Flux gave a perspective that simply had to accept hostilities between customers; his objection to their contention was merely for the sake of his regular patrons. Whether they killed eachother or not really didn't concern him. What did concern him more was the laborious effort he would have to make in mopping their bodies off his floor.
---------------------------------------------------
Chaya took an apathetic glance at the 'fight' and then turned her intuitive attention back to Nash. She closed the smoke-case and tucked it away in one of her pockets and continued to engage in conversation with the Crime Shadow. She let out a placid laugh, "the punishment, Mr. Nash, would be missing out on an opportunity to secure my competencies for the benefit of your association".
The lithe Pantoran knew she was pushing it, just a little, and that her bravado in discussion with one of the most powerful men on Coruscant could either serve her, if Nash felt she had some guts, or it could swiftly crush her ambition, if he felt it an insult to his caliber. It was a gamble she was willing to take nevertheless. One had to take educated risks in order to advance anywhere in the underbelly of the capital world. Lest she be trapped in an endless game of trivial street crime.
Chaya nodded knowingly to Nash now, "I didn't really believe you would be interested in committing to the project directly, but it was worth a shot", she winked at him, not in flirtation, but rather in an understanding cooperative manner. "I'll commence the assignment once I gather more intel on this place, I need to know what I'm dealing with more accutely. And then there is the matter of finding worthy partners to aid me in pulling off this heist... it should be most...enjoyable", she gave a wry smile and signalled over one of the serving girls for another drink. "I very much look forward to exhibiting my talents for you and your associates, Mr. Nash".
She knew it might take a few days to round up the necessary means by which to execute her plan with fluidity, but Deacon Nash had given her an opportunity to prove herself. The wheels were starting to turn, finally.
As the Togruta from the barfight stumbled over to their table, evincing some recognition with Nash, Chaya assumed her to be one of his numerous agents. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance", she regarded the Togruta as politely as one would in a cantina environment. A pilot and sharpshooter, most interesting. Chaya considered discussing her project with the woman after a couple of beverages. If she knew Nash on a professional level, then she most likely had very accomplished skills in her field. Chaya deliberated more on the formation of her plan, her eyes drifted again over the layout of the Crimson Flux, everything falling into some comprehensible alignment that she could decipher. The wheels continued to turn.

 

[Allu'rah Danan]

Daesha took Deacon's outstretched hand and he helped haul her into the booth. Her chest and face were covered in blood, a mix of the giant man's and her own. She spat on the floor, trying to purge her mouth of the coppery tang. "A dwink would be great," she answered in response to Deacon's offer. "An' a fu bags off ice." The Togruta leaned over her benefactor and grabbed the napkin dispenser, tearing out almost a dozen paper napkins in one go to wipe the blood from her necklace and chest, as well as to dab at her busted lip and bloody nose.

When Daesha realized Deacon wasn't alone, and that he had done the courtesy of introducing her to his... friend? associate? whoever she was, she nodded and offered the cleaner of her two hands to the woman to shake. "Goodda meet ya. Cap'n Daesha Olan. Sowwy do pwesent meself 'n such a way. Dinna know 'e wod kill me fo thwowing a dwink ah 'im. I juss canna dake id when men liak 'im cawl me a ho. Agin, sowwy. Yo name was?"

It didn't cross Daesha's mind that perhaps they were meeting here on business, nor did she recall the fact that Deacon tended to prefer cleaner environments than this for work or pleasure. However, she was still part dazed and was hurting terribly from the massive beating she had just taken. Her montrals were still buzzing inside from being struck so hard, and the lekku that the man had grabbed what positively throbbing. Perhaps indulging in a few drinks was not the wisest decision, considering the painkillers she would be needing to put herself on for the next week or two. But the drugs were back on the ship, and she had no intentions of heading back to the hangar yet. As long as she didn't get hammered, she would be fine.

 

[Saint]

Raising a hand, Deacon caught the attentions of a shapely, passing Twi'lek waitress. "May I help you," she inquired, giving the beat-up Togruta only a passing glance over as she focused her attentions on Deke. Nodding once as he lightly gestured with a hand towards Daesha, he replied, "Yes ma'am. If you'd snag my associate 'ere a Starshine Surprise an' a bag of ice wrapped in a bar towel, that would be -most- splendid." He gave her a sincere smile as the Twi'lek replied with an amiable tone, "Certainly Sir. I'll hav' that -right- out for you."

Without another look at Daesha, the Twi'lek sauntered away from the table, her hips swaying seductively, no doubt to entice a better tip from those whom she waited upon. Deacon however, wasn't much for gawking and promptly turned his attentions back to the two attractive (if not beat-up concerning one of them) ladies sitting at the table with him, not to mention his aide as well.

Looking over towards Chaya, he began to offer, "If you've need of more capable hands, I might know of a promising young man whose services could be of some use to you." Glancing over his shoulder briefly, he continued, "Jus' let me know an' I'll have him report t'you for further instructions." While Deke wouldn't have minded working alongside the Pantoran, he would have to check over his schedule to even see if he had the time. The issue she was wanting to work wasn't exactly a top priority of his, however, gaining a proven, capable hand was most certainly worth his while.

 

[Miranda]

Chaya offered the Togruta a cigarillo and inspected the woman's clouted face from afar, "the name's Chaya Talavara. You can certainly handle your own Ms. Olan, I must say. Quite impressive. And here I thought pilots were prone to running from fights and blasting off into the horizon...", she offered a laugh at her own jest and leant back into the sofa. She admired capable sentients, especially women who could stand on their own two feet and shout back at would-be assailants. Daesha Olan could indeed be a worthy collaborator for the task ahead, if the price were right and her interest piqued.
Chaya dutifully noted Deacon Nash's offer and nodded in agreement, "if he is worthy of your attention then I could certainly use him for the project. Do you think he would be interested though? I wouldn't want to get off on the wrong foot with anyone before I start working for your association full-time". She was constantly concerned with her repute and standing with others in the underworld. One could never be too cautious of how others perceived you. A slight or mark against one's name no matter how trivial could spell disaster in crime's professional market.
"Regardless, I do need capable hands...inform him of my intentions and if he wants in he can contact me at this address for further information", she handed the Crime Shadow a holocard with her details. Details that, of course, were not her residence or in any shape or form exposing. They were rather details concerning her small base of operations in one of the derelict offices behind Gar Menom street. Attached also was a commlink code so he could call her directly.
"With a bit of luck, and intuitive planning, all should go swimmingly", she offered Nash a contemplative smile and lifted her ambrostine glass in a quasi-toast, "to lucrative business then".

 

[Allu'rah Danan]

Daesha accepted the offer of a cigarello, and pulled a lighter from her pocket, but laid both on the table for the time being. Probably a better idea to stop her nose bleed before lighting up. Tossing the blood-soaked napkins aside, she pinched a couple of fresh ones to her nose to staunch the flow. "Ih's gooda meet ya," she reiterated as Chaya introduced herself. "An ih's juss Daesha, no Ms. Olan fo me." The Twi'lek waitress returned, and the Togruta ignored the drink that was placed in front of her, instead taking the ice. She switched hands to pinch her nose with her right hand and slapped the cold compress over the rapidly swelling left side of her face. She was going to look like kriffing hell in the morning, and feel even worse.

Daesha's smile at the Pantoran's joke was scarcely visible behind her hands. "I was noh bown a piloh, ow ev'n a smuggla. I was a huntah, an da akul is no easy pwey. Any huntah who kill an akul awone cwaims ihs teef, an dey make a headwess an ofer jewelry. Dose pieces become da Togrwuta's mos pwized possessions. I am no esseption," she explained.

The Togruta listened attentively as Chaya and Deacon returned to talks of business. She briefly wondered to which young man Deacon was refering, but it could have been anyone. Daesha had long come to know that Deacon was no common thug, even a smart one. He had a lot of influence in Coruscant's criminal underworld, and knew a lot of people. It was probably the reason that Chaya was speaking with him, she realized. It certainly didn't sound as though Deacon would be involved in this job directly, certainly not like the job she had pulled with him. But still, she had to know just what sort of job he was organizing this time around.

Again discarding her bloody napkins on the floor, the Togruta raised her glass in Chaya's toast, taking one quick sip to help wash the last of the coppery flavour from her fangs and a second that was actually quite enjoyable. Deacon had chosen well for her. "So tell me, Chaya... Can I call you Chaya? ...wha' sord of lucrative business you have in mind? I'll take the shord version, pwease," Daesha inquired. Her quality of speech was vastly improved by the stemming of the blood flow, and removal of the napkins, from her nose. It wasn't perfect, but at least she was more understandable now.

 

[Saint]

In regards to the helping hand that Deacon was going to loan to Chaya, he replied, "He'll be intristed if I tell him he's intristed Miss Talavara. Tha's how it works." When she went on to mention about giving him an address to contact her, Deke smirked at her wording. Quirking an eyebrow briefly, he then decided to go along with it and see what sort of response he received, "Yes ma'am. I shall inform him straight away."

Clearly this woman was use to giving instruction rather than taking it, though if she were to be brought in under the Black Sun, half of that would clearly have to change. Deacon wasn't the sort to tolerate underlings who thought themselves high enough to command their seniors, regardless of -who- it was. That bantha crap just didn't fly. Better to nip it in the bud now, before it grows and is left unchecked. That would simply be asking for trouble.

Lifting his own glass and tapping it lightly against Chaya's first, then Daesha's, Deacon replied, "To the Black Sun," and took a good-sized drink. Just then, the Togruta decided to share an exchange with the Pantoran, and the Crime Shadow simply sat back and panned his gaze over the patrons. His brute of a bodyguard was still slow to recover, hardly moving at all in a pile of flesh and clothes on the floor. Served him right. Deke would see to his transfer off to some other Krath-forsaken planet. Most likely a world of ice...

((OOC: Feel free to skip over me if you two engage in direct conversation.))

 

[Miranda]

There was something truly engaging about Daesha Olan. Not only had she ruffled some feathers in the Crimson Flux, she managed to maintain a certain dignity even after copping a pummel or two to the face. Chaya felt a certain amount of respect toward the Togruta already.
"Yes, I've heard quite a few intrepid tales of your people, your culture indeed seems to be bounded with valiance", she smiled and took a small sip of her most recent glass of ambrostine. The liquor, though of poorer quality, was growing on her.
Chaya attended to Daesha's curiosity regarding the little project she had planned, "just returning some misplaced merchandise back into the hands of the Black Sun. Problem is, said merchandise is in the warehouses below this club... and certain sentients don't wish to part with it", she smiled impishly at Daesha now, no doubt the Togruta would catch drift of what she meant.
The Pantoran then noted Nash's response and realised that she had sounded rather cavalier in giving him her details, he had, however, replied in a manner laced with irony. "My apologies Mr. Nash, I didn't mean...", she cut herself off. "I would be most graciously in your debt if you could spare a capable agent for this assignment", she wasn't stupid. She knew she had overstepped her means and did not, in any way, desire to aggravate her would-be boss.
Feeling rather maladroit then she returned her attention to the Togruta, "I believe we could require someone who can drive an airspeeder with precision...and an extra blaster would be most advantageous, if you're interested?".

 

[Allu'rah Danan]

"Ah, a good ol' bweak and entah," Daesha said with a grin. She drained her glass while Chaya apologized to Deacon for slighting him. The man certainly could be touchy about his authority, that was for sure. She put her ice down on the table just long enough to light the cigarillo she taken a few moments before. She took a long drag on it and exhaled before putting the ice back over her eye with her free hand. "I'd be intewested fo' sho, but Deacon misrepwesents me. I'm more of an archah than a sharpshootah, but I am still a faiwly good shot. And a bow is quieter than any gun. So say I help you, we bweak in, I shoot down a few people, and no one hea's a ting. We could avoid an alawm entirely. And ev'n if a shot don't kill someone, I keep ma arrows poisoned wiff somethin similah to what I injected into dat hulking fella over dere."

Daesha paused as she took another drag on the cigarillo, allowing Chaya a moment to digest what she had said. She was surprised the woman was able to understand a word she had said, between the slurring of her speech and with the noise of the club. Still, it was good for Daesha to know that she hadn't completely humiliated herself in the fight, and that the Pontoran seemed genuinely interested in having her on board. However, there were still terms to be discussed.

"So, say we do dis," she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward a bit like a good little schemer, "you get Deacon's wespect an' a bit o' twust. But I need somethin a widdle bit more wreal. What do I get oud of dis? An' fo' dat matter, whad about dis man of yo's Deacon? What can he bwing to da table? How's he gettin' paid?"


(OOC: Geeze, I feel like I'm playing some sort of horrible cross of Elmer Fudd and Monty Python's Pontious Pilate. The swelling in her face will be healed by the time she meets up with them next, okay? xDD)

 

[Saint]

"Like I said," Deacon began to reply as he turned his gaze over towards the Togruta female, "He'll be intrist'd if I say he's intrist'd. An' as for 'is fee, jus' let me worry about that, eh Daesh?" He shook his head lightly at her, quirking a half-smile. The young man he was referring to was certainly receiving a lot of interest from these two, and Deke had yet to even inform him of his upcoming assignment.

Adjusting his focus back over towards the Pantoran, he nodded as he answered Daesha's inquiry, "Miss Talavara is runnin' the operation. I's up t'her who gits paid what an' all that." Looking over towards the bodyguard brute that the Togruta had painfully handled, the Crime Shadow added, "As I said Miss Talavara, you can skim off the top for whatever purposes you like, whether it's t'pay y'self or some of yer crew. Makes no nevermind to me."

Giving a light, upwards-diagonal nod, he signaled for the brute to head back to the bar and leave things well enough alone. No doubt he felt he had a bone to pick, as Deacon was sure that in the brute's mind, the fight was to be purely martial without any sort of weaponry. Well, lesson learned. In -any- fight, there are no rules. Only winners and losers. The bodyguard was just lucky that this time, the loser wasn't also dead.

As if suddenly remembering something, Deke turned his attentions back to the table as he added, "An' as for 'is skills, he's a jack of all trades mostly. Lil slicin', decent with a blaster, can hold 'is own in a fight." After that last comment, he turned his gaze towards Daesha as he added, "Better than most I might add." He didn't add that he had a good head on his shoulders, as typically, that was a trait best discovered first hand, like Deacon had discovered with both the Pantoran and the Togruta before him.

 

[Miranda]

Chaya was content with the idea of having the privilege of working with Daesha, and what was more - Nash himself had a recommended agent to add to her infilitration squad. She had initially thought, while constructing her plan in her mind, that she would need several freelancers in on this job. To cover every angle. But as she deliberated more on the matter, she figured the less workers on the task, the more fluid their intrusion into the Crimson Flux's warehouses would be. Not to mention that there would be more profit to be made by all involved. As long as the agent that Nash had in mind could effectuate those tasks that weren't to be covered by herself and Daesha.
"I should be able to take out their security measures, I excel where tech is involved. Hopefully we can get in and out with the supplies without having to fell too many trees. I want this project to be as subtle as possible... no sense in storming through and announcing ourselves to the world. We'd be no better than mercs in that regard, and in this business, it pays to be inconspicuous."
Chaya stubbed out her cigarillo and exhaled a whisp of smoke, her eyes engaged with both Daesha and the Crime Shadow now, "I'll need a few hours to scope the rest of this place out...I need to know what systems I'll be working with if we are going to pull this thing off adequately", she finished her drink and nodded knowingly at the Togruta, "as Mr. Nash here so nicely put it, I can offer you credits...or some of the merchandise. There will be plenty of renowned goods down there that will catch a decent price on the open market. Whichever you prefer, we can work something out.".
Chaya still had much of her work cut out for her. She would need to inspect the lower levels of the club, somehow find out what security they had installed, and map out the storage areas without drawing any attention to herself. They'd need a quick route out of the club as well, undetected. Difficult, but achievable for her nevertheless. She'd blow the lights on the joint if she had to.
With that she stood and inclined her head to them both. "It was a pleasure. Shall I comm you once everything is in order?", she glanced at the Togruta expectantly, "I'll be sure to give a complete detail of the project once our other associate is informed by Mr. Nash". She downed the remnants of the ambrostine and gathered her heavy cloak, throwing it over her shoulders.