He let out a heavy sigh as he watched the stub that was once a proud cigarette flicker before ceasing to be, a thin wisp of smoke the only thing marking its passing. It went to join its fallen brothers in the already overcrowded ashtray. Without hesitation he reached into his jacket for a replacement, finding one in a crumpled packet. He was down to his last two though he doubted the meeting would go for long. Both parties held a mutual hatred for one another forged through several incidents, many of which involved pain being inflicted mainly on himself. But he bore them no ill which was uncommon for him as he was a man who held onto a grudge like it was the only thing that kept him going, which was the case more often then not. Though he was willing to put such tendencies on the shelf in light of the prompt and substantial paycheck that the other party had offered in exchange for a service.
The bar door swung open flooding the surrounding area with an almost unholy light and causing several regulars to shield there eyes and turn away. The light broke around a the large silhouette of a man and a much shorter female who stood in his shadow. The colossal silhouettes head craned around as it scoped out the occupants, the look of contempt was obvious even though his features were almost indistinguishable. Before long the barfly's had lost interest in the new arrivals and returned to drowning their sorrows or muttering quietly amongst themselves as a depressingly smooth tune emanated from an ancient jukebox that stood in the far corner.
The women made her way over to his booth in the corner without much hesitation, unlike her companion who continued to watch his back with each step he took, even though no one in the bar would even dream of challenging a man of his stature. The two came to a stop on the outside of his booth. Their features were still obscured by the poor lighting but the low hanging light that hung dead center over the table refused him the same courtesy.
"Trigger-happy, Two-fists" He acknowledged to the women and man respectively as he tapped the tail of his cigarette into the ashtray. He watched as the towering hulk lent down and whispered something into his partners ear, earning him a sharp jab from her elbow and a hastily mumbled statement.
"Jager." the women greeted followed by a low grunt from her partner that sounded distinctly like 'asshole'. With the pleasantries out of the way the two took a seat. He was surprised; not about them being there but about them even thinking to contact him... ever. They weren't exactly on speaking terms, at least after a fairly solid hay maker from one and the sudden departure from the Corps by the other it would be no stretch of the imagination to think that perhaps they were sick of him. And yet here they where.
"So." he began with a smirk as he lent forwards in his seat, "What can I do for you to kids today?" An awkward silence ensued, though Jager had no idea why. 'Two-fists' sat quietly and continued to have that all too familiar look of contempt plastered across his face. It was a look he had grown used to as it was the only look the man had on him when his eerily blue eye's crossed over him. So, out of spite, he returned in kind and began staring back at him.
"Please, this is buisness..." the women stated as she stomped on her partners foot, much to Jager's relief as such a contest would not have ended well for either. "Now, before you ask. We're paying in credits. So its tax free." she began, sliding a vanilla folder in front of him. "Its a fairly basic job, all you do is take the package from point A to point B then report back to us"
Jager smirked and took a drag on his rapidly disintegrating cigarette, "There's a catch... isn't there. Like, point A is a rebel infested Jungle and point B is in the lower bowel of a Sarrlac."
The women shook her head with conviction, "No, no catch. Point A is Tatooine and Point B is Naboo. Package is a girl by the name of Melia Quelon" Jager sat back in his chair and thought the proposal through, tossing around several scenarios in an attempt to understand why they had come to him. His mind however was a hazy mix of still frames from their previous encounters and four Trandoshan sidewinders that he had downed without hesitation prior to the two's arrival.
Eventually he cracked, "Why me?" both sat in silence, exchanging a quick look between themselves. "Well" Jager piped up after several minutes silence, "You gonna answer the question, Trigger-happy?" He barely had time to receive a response let alone finish the sentence when a large hand took hold of the scruff of his collar and jerked him forwards, the action sending a few empty glasses clattering to the floor. The mans steely blue eye's pierced through him as the look of contempt faded to one of steadily rising anger.
"Her name is Aeos..." he snarled, "Got it?" It had been a long time since Jager had been pulled over a table and threatened, even longer since the threat actually ment something. 'Ol' two fists', as Jager usually referred to him was a man who often kept his word and if that word meant pain, then pain was what one was going to get. Jager swallowed nervously, though he showed little fear on his face. A delicate hand grabbed at the large meat hook that had taken hold of Jager's collar,
"Jegora, enough..." she hissed, motioning with her eyes to throngs of witnesses both at the bar and surrounding booths. With a frustrated grunt he released Jager from his vice like grip. He then turned his head and met the eye's of each of the onlookers who immediately returned to their buisness. Jager took a deep breath and fixed his shirt, making sure to avoid eye contact with Jegora. Aeos shook her head slowly and sighed,
"We're asking you because we need someone... uh.. we can trust". Again Jager smirked, she was a terrible liar. She picked him because she knew were to find him if things went south, but it was as good a reason as any and as long as they were paying, who was he to say no.
"Fine." he stated, closing the folder and placing it under his arm. "You've got yourself a deal." With that he rose to his feet and gave each an acknowledging nod, "You'll hear from me in three days". He left the two sitting as he left the bar, smirking with the knowledge that they were going to have to pay for his drinks.
---
A hot, dry wind assaulted him the very second he set foot off the shuttle. Sand had found its way into every crack and crevasse conceivable and the the saliva in his mouth had decided to stay behind in the passenger shuttle, leaving his mouth tasting like an old leather boot... he was home alright. The all to familiar smell of desperation and dried Bantha dung wafted across the wide, dusty streets mixing with the various exotic and alien smells from the occasional street vendor to create something that was both gag-inducing and strangely alluring.
However it didn't take long for the novelty to wear off. He'd spent far to long at this place and vowed never to return, a vow made partly from his contempt and partly for his safety. When he left he left with a bang. A bang that some people were likely to remember. So long as he stayed out of such peoples way this little job would remain as benign as both he and his employers wanted.
Tatooine was a planet created for locals. An outsider stood out like a Trandoshan in a Human-only bikini contest, no matter how well they attempted to hide. Partly because there were no addresses. There were maps but locals often relied on such simple instructions as 'Two buildings down from Lerat-ki's speeder place, with the red-ish door' or something of a similar, yet completely useless nature. But the local population of any of Tatooines major settlements was comprised of low-lives or people who refuse to get involved in anything. Making the task of asking for simple directions quite an adventure depending on what part of the settlement one happened to find themselves.
However Jager was in luck. His employers, being the type who prepare thoroughly for things, had given him directions in the form of a map on his pad. Making his task just that little more uninteresting. The suns where high and the streets were bustling with foot traffic, parted only by the occasional speeder or Ronto. Coming back was a major culture shock. Tadath was a mostly human-centric planet, but Tatooine was like a melting pot. Every species and sub-species throughout the known galaxy could be found. Rodians, Trandoshans, Half-Trandoshans, Pa'lowick's, Duros and just when he'd thought he'd seen them all another spieces would pass by.
The house was nestled in between a seedy looking spare parts shop and a doctors office. He wasted no time approaching it, taking refuge in the narrow alleyway that led to the front door. A Twi'lek stood guard by the door. His eye's cast down as he stayed in the shadow of the building. Jager approached with caution. He had always harbored a general mistrust of twi'leks, though he harbored a similar mistrust to almost every sentient species. Regardless of skin, race or bizarre head growths; everyone only looked out for themselves. A statement that was almost an unwritten law on a planet such as Tatooine.
Without drawing to much attention, he slipped his hand into his jacket and took a light grip of his revolver. The Twi'leks silent treatment was most likely a ploy used to catch his victims off guard, yet his approach continued. He made it to the door before a hand rose up and blocked his way.
"And who might you be...." the Twi'lek hissed in a quiet tone.
"Emperor Palpatine" Jager remarked, smirking as he attempted to push past the hand. The Twi'leks bony hand took hold of his shoulder, his stick like digits gradually digging into to Jager's jacket.
"Funny...."
"Thank you. I'm here for a week, try the ve-" the sound of a blaster being drawn cut his sentence short. With a fleeting interest he turned to face the door guard. He looked familiar, though most things that weren't him often did. The Twi'lek's bloodshot eye's drifted from Jager's ankles up to his forehead in examination.
"Jager'luth..." he hissed with a thinly-veiled surprise. The fact he knew Jager's name wasn't good. People remember names for two reasons, one because they are friends and the other being their enemies, and he was fairly sure that this case was the latter. What seemed like a snarl, though it was hard to tell, formed on the Twi'lek's lips exposing a set of pointed teeth. The twi'lek's sickly pale skin and distinct bloodshot eye's tugged at the recesses of Jager's memory. He was sure he didn't want to remember who this particular Twi'lek was but it was clear he wasn't getting past the door until he did.
"You've got quiet a set on you, returning to Tatooine after the exit you made..." His hand was still gripping the handle of his revolver. This relaxed little escort job was going to get very messy, Ae and Jegora were going to be pissed. He felt the bony hand release his shoulder.
"She is inside." he stated, returning his blaster to his holster and his eye's to the ground. "Watch your back"
Such encounters were the cornerstone of why he never wanted to come back. Many faces with many gripes all centered in a place with no official government and more military grade firearms then the armory back on Tadath meant that revenge was only a simple trigger pull away. Unlike the rest of the civilized galaxy, most of Tatooine's inhabitants had little qualms with shooting someone in the back.
The interior of the small house was very open, as was most dwellings on Tatooine. Its sand colored walls did little to keep the heat out but several ceiling fans were making every effort to cool the buildings occupants down.
"Hoooo-ly shit. I told ya' he wasn't dead." A skinny, rat-like man called from across the room before Jager had barely placed a foot in the door. He recognized the voice, though he tried not to. Lirosen Sevelyin or 'fork tongue' to those who knew him through buisness. The man was a half-breed of some variety, many people were certain that humans couldn't breed with snakes but Lirosen may have been proof. The relatively small man wasted no time in traversing the room and sizing Jager up. "How ya' been buddy? Had pegged you for dead but not me, nu-uh, not ol' Seve." The man continued waffling on as though Jager was a long lost friend, but the two weren't friends. Lirosen had no friends.
During Jager's early days Lirosen was widely known for his ability to acquire information. A skill that kept him happy and loved by various ladies of the poll and club owners, of course few would talk to him on a casual basis out of fear he would sell them out.
"Waddya' known. Rats CAN tread water for a long period of time." His weak sarcasm passed right over the man, who still bore a wide smile on his face.
"Nah, Nah. Its not like that, you see. I don't tread, I just left the lifeboat and moved to a larger vessel."
"That soo... How many people'd you stab in the back to get there?"
The half-breed chuckled as he gently ribbed Jager. "Not as many as'yed' think, but hey. Man's gotta look out for his interests. So, howya' been"
If there was one thing Jager didnt want to do, it was talk about the good old times. Because they weren't good old times. His replica right hand was solid enough evidence of that.
"Listen, you rat-bastard. I'm here on buisness... Where's the girl?" A look of genuine astonishment crossed Lirosen's face.
"Ohhhhh, so you're back to the whole 'Workin' for a crimeboss' eh?"
Something told Jager he wasn't referring to Jegora or Ae. "No... uh, its complicated. Lets just say 'contractor' and leave it at that." Lirosen was a man who, once he got talking, it was hard to silence him, let alone keep him on a single topic. But the look of utter contempt on Jager's face somehow managed. He put it down to the overall surprise of seeing a ghost, a novelty that was surely going to wear off sooner rather then later.
The rat-like man smirked and moved towards a closet on the other side of the room. His ear had been poorly bandaged, a red smearing soaking had clearly soaked through them, yet Jager just opted not to ask.
"Gonna sound like a stupid question" he began "You haven't killed her... have you?" The last thing he wanted was to lug a corpse from Tatooine to Naboo. Let alone see the reaction on the receivers face if he expected a live package. Lirosen didn't answer as the door slide to the side.
"Miss Quelon, Jager Luth. Jager Luth, Melia Quelon"
A girl, dark brown hair, fair complexion, not a day over nineteen sat bound and gagged in the corner of the closet. Jager sighed with relief as she attempted to retreat further into the wall. He was not in the mood for heavy lifting.
"There a reason for the whole bound and gagged routine?" he queried dryly.
"Yeah, she's a biter... Aren't you, Princess." Lirosen stated as he moved in closer to the girl. "Bitch took a chunk outta' my ear when we nabbed her. Mean set of lungs as well"
With his intended package in front of him, the job seemed less easy then he first imagine. But it was still possible. "You got any handcuffs?"
----
The streets were seemingly less crowded, though it still required marginal effort to push past people. His package dragged along behind him as he pressed on clearing a path through the torrent of beings. On any other planet the sight of a man handcuffed to a women, pushing his way through pedestrian traffic would have raised a few eyebrows, but not on Tatooine. Here law enforcement was a bad joke so he didn't have to deal with any impromptu questioning about his current state and most beings parted way out of either fear or to simply mind their own buisness which made reaching the shuttle almost too easy. If it weren't for his package attempt to thwart his efforts ever chance she could, the trip would have almost been perfect.
The shuttle ride however was going to prove far more interesting. Roworth had sprung for two economy class tickets aboard a civilian passenger shuttle, which meant he was going to need an explanation as to why he was handcuffed to another person. But, like most problems in the galaxy, it could be solved by quickly flashing his Imperial ID and saying something along the lines of 'Imperial Business'. Which sent those who asked quiet. They knew how hard the Imperials could make life, and Jager looked like the sort who would enjoy it, so they simply nodded and showed him and his package to their seats.
His package remained silent the entire trip, a look of defeat permanently affixed to her soft features and her dark green eye's cast permanently down. He really had no idea who she was, or why she didn't want to go back and really he didn't care. At no point in the contract did it demand he empathize with the packages plight. But his curiosity continually nagged him to ask. Thankfully the shuttle served alcoholic drinks, a sure fire way to quell any curiosity. Also a sure fire way to disaster but Jager took the initiative and watched his intake. Mission first, drinking later.
--
"Sir" a voice whispered from the blackness as a hand nudged him gently him. One of the stewardesses stood over him with a plasticy smile, "We're here, Sir". Without a word he gave an acknowledging nod then rose to his feet. His package had fallen asleep as well, but a sharp tug on the cuffs both woke her and dragged her upright.
"I need to use the bathroom" She mumbled. An odd choice for a first exchange, but Jager was going to have none of it.
"Hold it in" he retorted with a smirk as he pulled her towards the exit. It was his first time on Naboo. Though after you've visited one lush green world populated mostly by upper-class snobs and mental-inept frog-like humanoids, you've visited them all. Their trip through the terminal quickly remained him that he was back in civilization in the form of several armed security personal surrounding him. The five o'clock shadow coupled with his exposed revolver holster and the handcuffed female were all valid reasons for a questioning, but once again a quick flash of his ID and an uttering of the words 'Imperial buisness' brought an end to it. Though he had to tack on the vague threat of 'Do you want to lose your job' to an over zealous terminal guard. There was always someone who took their job just a little too seriously.
He was on the home stretch now. A cab ride was all that stood between him and a twenty thousand credit paycheck, and all without a single mishap. It was perfect... almost too perfect. Paranoia slowly began to cloud his judgment. The cab driver shoot him a cautious look via the rear-view mirror. Jager wasted no time on the pleasantries, giving the man the address and the order to 'punch it' before returning to his belligerent paranoia.
His package kept her silence, opting to instead stare vacantly out the speeders windows. She was to pretty to be a professional escort, which scraped the assumption that she had run away from a former boss. No markings, defiantly not a slave. Jager paused and aborted his examination. It helped take his mind off the growing paranoia but at the same time it tore him away from his constant scanning of the surrounding area.
"Why are you doing this?" Jager froze, she was defiantly talking to him. He chose to remain silent and pretend as though he didn't hear her. "How much is he paying you?" her accent was of the upper class variety. Fluid and clear. Escorts and slaves still sounded like escorts and slaves, regardless of their owners... perhaps this was some sort of kidnapping. Regardless, he continued with his silence, their destination wasn't to far away.
"Driver! Stop." The cab came to an abrupt halt, the cabbie peering into the passenger seats with a confused look.
"Don't listen to her" Jager snapped as he jammed a boot into the back of his seat. "Keep going"
"Do not listen to him, driver."
It was her tone of voice and the pleasant yet authoritative nature of her words that begged the question of 'who was handcuffed to who'. "I demand you answer the question!" His package barked, "WHY?!"
Jager sighed in frustration. Answering the woman's question would serve no real purpose apart from giving her an opportunity to launch into a 'holier-then-thou' rant about how what he is doing is wrong. He had received this far to many times from far to many people for it to even matter anymore, let alone to be worth listening to.
"I'm gonna say this once, so listen." he grunted, "Twenty thousand credits is why"
"Well then... mercenary. I can pay you double" Her tone indicated that she was serious, but Jager still wasn't going to bite.
"Thanks but no thanks. I prefer my credits to be real, not imaginary. Sorry to disappoint". It was His callous smirk that set her off. She began in a low tone, her disgust for him obvious in almost every syllable. Then it slowly climbed to room level, then onward. For the most part her idea's on why the galaxy is such a terrible place because of people like him made some sense, yet Jager still payed her very little attention. The cabbie on the other hand remained fixed on the two. Jager didn't blame him. It was not everyday two handcuffed strangers enter your cab.
"And if you cannot think of a single justification as to why you are doing this, then I suggest you let me go" Again Jager smirked. The conviction in her tone again meant she was serious.
"Alright. Fine.... I've got one reason." Slowly he reached into his jacket and took hold of his six round, stainless plasti-steel friend and pointed the buisness end towards the curious driver who immediately froze. "Drive, don't stop...". The cab quickly got up to speed and the pairs journey continued. His package sat motionless in the seat, her emerald colored eye's fixed on her captors revolver. Again he sighed in frustration as he turned to face her, "Now. Are we done talking, because I'd like to get this over and done with." She responded with a subtle nod before turning away and attempting to curl up in the seat. "Good girl.."
Their journey came to an end outside a large estate. She was definitely upper class, or at least belonged to someone who was.. Jager tossed the driver a handful of credits as he clambered out of the back with the girl in tow. Homestretch, he could almost taste the happy hour drinks and cigarettes that the twenty thousand was going to score him.
A man dressed in what could only be described as robes appeared at the door. Judging by the defeated snarl his package gave, this was the man he needed to see. "Mr Dorson?"
The man nodded as he took a swig of brandy from a glass he clutched in his right hand. Jager sighed with relief and unlocked the cuffs, promptly shoving his package forwards the moment the two had parted. Dorson placed one of his hammy arms around the girls back and began to walk her back to the house. No doubt Jager had condemned her to something terrible, the subtle leer from Dorson and the way his hands gently caressed the clearly frightened girl told him to get back into the cab and return home. Twenty thousand credits was all it took to have him ruin someone else chance at freedom and a new life, a chance he himself took so many years ago. But that's the way the galaxy worked, and if it wasn't him doing this it would have been someone else.
- OOC:
- Still working the kinks out of the rest.
