A Dashed Rogue

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr Galactic Standard Time. Pfft. Coruscant standard, of course. Lidah should have known that, having lived the first twenty or so years of her life fixed on that overcrowded dot in the core. She read through the rest of the message quickly, unduly self-conscious. Had she been too formal? Not clever enough? Text was just weird. Cold, almost. Yet if anyone were to be both aware of and charmed by her idiosyncrasies, it would be Locke. She lingered on the valediction and his faintly ridiculous holonet handle, a private smile on her lips. The Augur Hawk slept in an otherwise empty hanger in the heart of Soldon, the spare cabin turned conference room utterly silent except for the hum of the holo projecter. Nabbu the Hutt’s mercenaries were due to arrive soon, a pair of complete question marks. Anonymous recruiting did have its downsides, though she appreciated the security. Nabbu would, of course, find his account temporarily suspended. Lidah needed a good look at this artifact before it passed out of her hands again. Hopefully it was just a pretty rock and this personal trip would be wasted. Though it was always nice to spend a week or two away from the Smuggler’s Moon. Clean air, trees, weather besides smog or acid rain. Prohibitively expensive, but nice. However, Prazhi did pose a special sort of problem even beyond their disarmament policies. Where Imperial and Republic diplomats gathered, there was a significantly higher chance of her being recognized from a past life. Terribly irritating, that. Lidah switched off her datapad and slipped it into her coat pocket. Local news predicted rain though she hadn’t so much as stepped off her ship yet. Idle, she considered the silver tray laden with finger food offerings from the ship’s kitchen. Sweets mostly, petit fours and a carafe of black coffee – she knew at least one member of her audience. Hertz was surprisingly adept with a pastry bag. Under no circumstances could the Jolly Janitors be allowed to headhunt him for their operation.

[flashfyr]

    Beams of light refracted across the metallic hull of the approaching ship. Tints of green and red accompanied the pale silver glint, all of which bounced off the surface like an incomplete prism. Compared to the infinite canvas of space, the vessel’s size likely wasn't even a speck. Within the cockpit though, there was a fire that raged with the ferocity of Tatooine’s twin suns. When the cold emptiness of space stared at the blaze, -she- stared right back.
    For a moment, there was nothing but silence between the two.
    Then, Bo-Kyram peeled her eyes away from the viewport and looked down at the black astromech that waddled towards her. “Set course for Prizha,” she said with a gruff tone, as if sandpaper had scratched her quasi-Australian accent. A series of beeps rose from her touch with the console while a set of numbers scrolled across the navicomputer. “We’re in no rush, but make sure I’m not late.”
X2-C3 whistled in affirmation, though his response was undertoned by a sarcastic whirr. The woman's stare shifted to his lens with a stone face. In utter silence, she pivoted on her heel and exited the cockpit, leaving the droid to plot the journey alone.
    Blood red hair fell over her shoulders and stopped just above Kyram's cleavage, brushed slightly by a cool, welcoming breeze from the lobby’s air conditioner. It was a rare occurrence for the woman not to be in her beskar’gam, but the bags under her eyes were still visible from Nabbu’s disruptive transmission. Business hours were a fantasy for those in this line of work.
    She made her way through the threadbare living space, paying no mind to the metal furniture that sparsely populated the room. The rest of her ship was just as simple, and one would be hard pressed to find a speck of rust in even the most forgotten corner.
Just when Kyram reached the door to her living quarters, her posture wobbled as the vessel thundered into the sapphire tunnel of hyperspace. Already, her mind looked at the job ahead, trying to piece together details she did not have, attempting to predict that which she could not possibly know. In fact, the naked truth was that she never knew what to expect. Her fist clenched tightly at the thought.

[...]

    A silent roar echoed through nothingness as the ship dropped out of hyperspace. Below, a temperate green world welcomed the visitor, as did the looming presence of Imperial and Republic frigates stationed in its orbit. Lines of incandescent glare reflected from their massive hulls, much like the city-scaled solar panels native to Coruscant. Transient craft streamed to and from the planet, their transmissions easily picked up by Kyram's decoder. Those from Imperial space often forgot they no longer had to transmit clearance codes while on Prahzi, and those from Republic space often forgot that their government could do nothing to help them when they needed it. No matter what side they were on, it seemed as though everyone had forgotten the warm ease of safety.
    X2 let off a familiar fwee-whoo as Kyram strolled back to the cockpit; this time with boots that clanked against the durasteel floor. However, her helmet was held beneath her armpit where it waited patiently.
    “Begin the descent,” she said.
    The invisible plane of the planet’s gravity captured the vessel as it passed through the peaceful blockade of larger warships. Before long, Kyram had pierced the atmosphere and swooped below the clouds. Her eyes scanned the landscape below, taking note of the population centers that were sprinkled across the planetwide forest. A set of resonant beeps came from the astromech while it steered towards the coordinates she inputted earlier.
    Trees soon gave way to the customary streets and buildings of sentient society, each structure reaching towards the sky as if to grasp something imperceptible. Little by little, the pair made their way towards the center of the city. A scowl yanked the corner of the woman’s lip when she realized that the docking bay the numbers pointed to was practically right in the middle.
    This location was safe but unnervingly trapped.
    "Find a landing pad a short distance away. Stay with the ship and be ready to act on my command."
    X2's jack port twisted with a whirr as the craft veered to the east. A nearby refueling dock blinked the word "OPEN" in obnoxious pink neon, but it attracted Kyram's vehicle nonetheless. They entered the tunnel that led directly to an empty hangar bay, maintenance droids already in the wings with various tools. Ancient-sounding creaks and groans rose from the armored transport as its landing gear deployed, milky wisps of steam shooting out the underbelly here and there.
    Kyram lowered her helmet over her face and looked over her gauntlets one last time, checking to make sure her electronet and whip had been installed properly. She clicked something into place and then exited the ramp.

[...]

    A figure strolled through Lidah's door. Bo-Kyram stood in front of the holo table, red and gold beskar filling the space as if a Star Destroyer had been given human shape. The corners and edges of the armor were frayed from years of extensive use, accompanied by miscellaneous scratches and blaster scars over every surface. A half-cape was draped over her shoulder, but the barrel of a concealed carbine slightly poked through the material. Her jetpack jutted out from the top with a large missile that extended the Mandalorian’s almost six-foot height. Mirrored tint comprised her visor as she slowly panned her gaze around - first left, then right. When someone looked at her, the T-shaped glass threw their face right back at them. It was a strange feeling for one to die as they stared into their own eyes...

[Moonfire]

The Augur Hawk was a good parallel to Lidah Faine herself-- Cold, aloof angles pleasantly filled with the creature comforts of home. There was something to be said about traveling in style. Qiki had treated herself to a nice shower during the voyage and at least a third of the journey to catfishing some Trandoshan on Kashyyyk who claimed he’d ‘rain wookiee pelts’ on her and bring their nest the Scorekeeper’s endless favor. Legs crossed one over the other Qiki had taken up in the conference room as Lidah and her attache set about preparing for the meeting.

It’d taken some work to get Vishek to fall for ‘Grizzelda’, he was a shrewd hunter after all and wasn’t interested in HLSbabes, but Qiki enjoyed the challenge. A few flashes of some particularly gnarly fake scars on the scaley lady dancer she knew back home had certainly changed his tune. He’d sent his darling lover R4V4G3R a hefty bit of credits to help with overwhelming expenses.

Qiki enjoyed the new pair of boots that bought, flashy holographic coating shimmering with every roll of her dainty human ankle. Shifting more into her seat the woman barely looked up from her datapad screen. Generally the master slicer was against carpooling for a job, but Faine seemed to know what she was doing. Lidah also was funding about 80% of Memento’s ventures post-assassination and it really seemed a waste of space-fuel to take separate transports with Qiki was literally crashing in her basement.

Crinkling noises from a vacuum sealed pack of orange-dusted triangles welcomed in Bo-Kyram to their little planning den-backslash-luncheon, Qiki’s free hand raising to unceremoniously lick the flavor-blasted powder from her thumb. Hazel eyes skimmed across the battle-scarred armor, reaching their own impish reflection in the visor. “Noice entrance, Spooky.”

The spritely woman shifted in her seat, criss-crossed lap forming the perfect pocket to stash her datapad as the scruffy dreadlocked blonde reached against to swipe a perfectly formed chocolate robed cake square. “M’diggin’ the whole silent but intimidating thing. ‘Mind me of, uhhhh…” The woman tapped a finger to her chin, transferring orange to the very point before looking over at Lidah.

“Key-key, you remember that fuckin’ holo about that guy-- Ya know, the guy? An’ he makes like, fuckin’ dope ass entrances in, like, spiky armour an’ shit? You know what I’m talkin’ about?” The woman’s head swiveled back to their new companion. “You know what I’m talkin’ about.”

Wiping the remain dust from her fingers to the shabby oversized hoodie she wore the slicer popped the cube of cake into her mouth, chewing it messily for a moment before swallowing. “Gulp-- I’m the infamous Syntax-Terror, you can call me Es-Tee, this is Keymaster an’ welcome to your fuckin’ job. Grats, you passed the first test by not bein’ late and not bein’ gross. You lose points for bein’ gross.”

[Ash]

Darmid wasn't one to make flashy or late entrances. Normally, at least within the past several years, he was on time and early and direct. Sometimes things didn't always add up. He had his pack searched twice, and his spear, half collapsed so its only a meter in length, almost confiscated, but thanks to a little spur of the force, he managed.

He had both on his back now, the jingling of his armor muted by clothing, and the spear within easy reach of him if he needed it, which was unlikely on this planet. Prazhi, though it was a neutral planet, wasn't one where he would want to be spotted. He knew, deep in his gut, that the Jedi and probably the Republic were still after him. Luckily he seemed more like a half Firrerreo than full, which was good for him.

Running a hand through his freshly dyed hair, he made sure the ponytail was intact before he continued walking, fallowing a Mandalorian who happened to be heading in the same way as him. He gently reached out with his senses around, but didn't feel trouble immediately around him.

His path eventually took him to some hangers, and he fallowed his Mandalorian buddy to the very ship he was due to check in with. He couldn't hide the slight smile as he fallowed the warrior up the ramp... well, after about 30 seconds or so. Inside, he let the force wrap itself around him and flow out, and his senses touched a very familiar person. He didn't know if he hid his surprise from his features as his red eyes scanned over Lidah, and then the others. His small pack he set on the ground and extended his spear, setting it against the wall, before he went over for some snacks.

"One man and three women. Not sure if its heaven or hell I find myself in, but may as well enjoy myself while it lasts."

The man grabbed some finger food, chowing down on a little pastry in one bite. He would rather meat than some of these fancy sweets, but hey, free food is free food.

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr ”I’m sure that I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lidah glanced from Qiki to the new arrival. A mandalorian, apparently – one could hardly mistake the armor. Nothing could be further from Lidah’s own attire, a comfortable linen suit with flared cuffs and a long jacket. She took a quick inventory of the weapons that she could see, expression smoothing to carefully glazed neutrality. Total disregard for Prazhi’s disarmament policies and a vaguely hostile mien … Clearly, they were off to a great start. Soon after, their fourth arrived. A familiar man that wasted no time digging into the refreshments. Lidah poured herself some coffee, then leaned back in her chair, appraising. Where had she seen him before? He was examining her back, through the lens of the Force. An unwelcome intrusion – Lidah concealed her presence, suddenly and totally. Like reaching out and snuffing a candle. ”What do you think Es-Tee? That’s got to be double or triple gross, at least. Well, you must be ‘Speartip.’” The weapon he’d set down implied that much, some sort of spear with a telescoping handle. ”And you didn’t leave a name on the HLS. ‘Spooky’ it is, unless you’d like to give us one now?” Lidah addressed the mandalorian, briefly. ”Consider me your point of contact for this job. Es-Tee and I have taken care of some of the initial legwork, picked up where Nabbu’s bounty hunter left off. Before we share any of that, I need to be assured that we can work together. ”First thing, just in case any of you have never been to Prazhi before ... I assure you, weapons of any kind will not be tolerated beyond this point. The locals are deadly serious about that – which is, need I remind you, the only reason any of us were hired.” So. If that is a deal breaker for you, I think you’d better step off my ship now because I am not going to jail for some Hutt’s plaything.” Lidah waited for several moments, plucking a cake from the tray and taking a dainty nibble. It proved to be lemon flavored beneath the cloyingly sweet vanilla frosting. Not her favorite, but not wholly objectionable either. Washing it down with a sip of coffee, she dimmed the lights and activated the projector with the remote. Shimmering blue light sparkled briefly then coalesced, a life-sized replica of the crystal thief. He was human, closing in on middle aged, with a shock of buttercream yellow hair. ”Our target: Reynard DeVoss. Conman and master forger. I wonder what tipped off old Nabbu?”

[flashfyr]

    Great. Another child in a grown-up body, content to spill whatever unwanted gibberish comes into her head. It shouldn't be surprising; there are billions of punks like this one in the galaxy, all of whom think they're somehow unique. Of course, Kyram was just another Mandalorian out of thousands who carried a stereotyped presence and overinflated image, but at least she could admit it to herself. The girl sitting across from her though - she was just the typical fool who jumped to conclusions and confused what she saw for what she thinks. Amusing that she mixed something as simple as silence for a thinly veiled attempt at intimidation. No, real intimidation only came with time, with experience. Only when the person sees why they should be afraid, that's the only time they will be afraid. With any luck, that would come later. 
    For now, Kyram simply looked at her nails and nonchalantly replied, "Right." 
    She raised her head and gave some actual attention to Lidah's voice. "I figured my time with the Bounty Hunters' Guild would've made me recognizable enough, or at least what happened to Clan Varad. Name's Bo-Kyram, but I usually just get called 'Bo.'" 
    
    When Lidah was finished with everything not pertaining to the mission, the Mandalorian waved her hand slightly. "I'll head back to my ship and get changed after the briefing. I imagine 'Speartip' would also need a moment. The authorities won't be a problem."
    With that, they continued. 
    Shimmering, ghostly blue light bounced off the mirrored T-visor of Kyram's helmet. In it, the target's face rotated with earnest detail. Behind the protection of the buy'ce, Kyram's eyes narrowed as she looked over his features. It wouldn't be surprising if the man had changed his egregious hair color to not stand out as much, so everything else had to be memorized. 

 
    

[Ash]

Darmid's mark was right as the woman who seemed familiar shut herself out of the force, or at least what he could feel. He let let a small smile touch his lips before he did the same, fading away from the force as if he wasn't there. There was no reason to use it right now. He was among 'friends.'

"Good guess."

He let a little sarcasm out as Lidah spoke his codename he happened to pick for himself. He wasn't very original, but formerly being called Lance... well there was no need for originality. She began talk about weapons not being allowed here, which was all fine and dandy. Walking cane... walking stick. Hell, he could spot weld a few extra bars and call it a pitchfork if he truly needed to get his spear around. The blade collapsed so it was easier to hide. It was no lightsaber but he managed to get it on the planet after all. Hiding it will be easy.

"Sure thing. Good thing i have none."

Darmid kept his voice low, not mocking low but quiet, and he stuck another pastry into his mouth. His eyes reflected the hologram for a moment as the life sized image of their target came up. So this was the thief they were after. Seemed awfully... normal looking, but wasn't most people?

"Do we have an area to start sensing him out?"

[Moonfire]

"One man and three women. Not sure if its heaven or hell I find myself in, but may as well enjoy myself while it lasts."

High, barking laughter revealed the half-chewed bits of cake, a rain of crumbs falling across the punk’s front oh so attractively as she doubled over in laughter at the newest round of hilarious fucking jokes from these clowns. Raising a single fingergun up to Speartip she fired it once, opposite hand moving to brush the specks of white cake from her chest. “Super gross. We’re clockin’ in at negative-ten points already for Speartip an’…”

"I figured my time with the Bounty Hunters' Guild would've made me recognizable enough, or at least what happened to Clan Varad. Name's Bo-Kyram, but I usually just get called 'Bo.'"

Qiki raised an eyebrow at the quiet humblebrag, body shifting to aim the tip of her pointer finger to the heavily armoured figure. Did it actually count as a humblebrag, or just outright bragging about some Mandalorian nonsense only Mandalorians cared about? A single finger tapped lightly at the woman’s chin before deciding she didn’t give a shit either way. “Negative-five for Spooky here. S’gonna be a tough race today, Key.”

Dusting off her hands the crustpunk shifted some in her seat, the insect-wing extensions of her boots, more suitable for a Nar Shaddaa club than Lidah’s polite conference room, flapped and bobbed lazily as she adjusted into a more comfortable position. Her datapad buzzed with more of Vishek’s messages, she’d deal with him another time. Let him chase. Scorekeeper bullshit.

“Man, I really appreciate your dedication to efficiency. Nothin’ says ready for a job like parkin’ your ship, leavin’ your ship with shit you don’t need, gettin’ briefed, then goin’ back to your ship to put up all the shit you used to flex at your coworkers what a badass you are an’ then, after wastin’ half-the-party’s time sortin’ through your inventory, you’re actually ready to get some fuckin’ work done. Real professionals. I’m in awe.” Qiki clapped her hands, taunting laughter echoing shrilly between claps.

“Luckily for us all, I came prepared.” Empty fingers wiggled to show just how defenseless the slicer was. Not a single firearm in sight, not that she generally ran with much more than a single blaster. Heavy arms weren’t her style. “I’ve been trackin’ the flow ah’ credits in an’ out of Rey’s accounts, while he’s got the usual trickle of a shitbird makin’ a little money, he’s spendin’ like crazy an’ deffo not sold anythin’ near worth this crystal’s supposed value. Dummy accounts or a credit case still possible, but I’m pretty sure fucker’s still runnin’ ‘round with it.”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr ”Sorry, Bo, that’s uhm … A lot information to draw from an unsigned message.” Or on sight – bright paint and clan markings meant little to Lidah Faine, the cultural context lost on the former Sith. By long habit she saw armor as a uniform for soldiers, sexless and slightly othering. Blinking slowly, Lidah cocked her head to one side. Between the mandalorian’s sudden fascination with her gauntlets and Qiki spewing crumbs down her front, one hardly needed the Force to sense the growing hostility in the room. Then there was Speartip, laughing off her one condition for working together. And worst of all, not a single response to the question she’d asked. She wanted to think that her usual partners in crime would have jumped on that. Instead, the question continued to kick around in her head. A mystery for later. ”You must stop making a mess of my very nice ship, Es-Tee.” Lidah popped the other half of the petit four into her mouth and stood, motioning for the others to follow her. On the way out of the conference room she scooped up Speartip’s weapon and tucked it under her arm. ”We have two leads to start us off. First, while it’s likely that Nabbu’s crystal is still in Mr. DeVoss’s possession, there are a handful of likely buyers here in Soldon that he may have made contact with. Past associates, private collectors, even a museum or two – Prazhi isn’t terribly bothered by offworlders and their stolen goods. Es-tee has the list.” A very short walk later, they passed into the Augur Hawk’s hold-slash-armory. A row of dark wood cabinets with biometric locks were inset into one wall. Lidah put Speartip’s weapon into one of these and closed it with some finality. From another, she produced a thick wallet, an umbrella, and a pair of violet mirrorshades. ”Second, Kara Winters of the Eyes-Wide Agency has a lunch appointment with Mrs. DeVoss. Poor woman thinks her husband is having an affair – and after seeing his accounts I am very inclined to agree. One of you will pose as my – Kara’s – bodyguard. Do I have a volunteer?”

[flashfyr]

“Man, I really appreciate your dedication to efficiency. Nothin’ says ready for a job like parkin’ your ship, leavin’ your ship with shit you don’t need, gettin’ briefed, then goin’ back to your ship to put up all the shit you used to flex at your coworkers what a badass you are an’ then, after wastin’ half-the-party’s time sortin’ through your inventory, you’re actually ready to get some fuckin’ work done. Real professionals. I’m in awe.”

    Bo's voice dripped with boredom, tinted by the tone one would use while speaking to a child. After all, who else would clap and fake-laugh just to tickle themselves? "Are you gonna do somethin' about it, or are you gonna keep talking like I'm someone who listens to obnoxious cows such as yourself?" 
    Kyram already predicted the latter, and if that turned out to be the case, she just tuned Qiki out. Considering how much money this job was paying, the loudmouth was literally not worth the time. On the off chance that she actually grew a pair and did something, well... wouldn't that be a sight? A smile pulled Kyram's lip. It'd be the first brat with a chip on their shoulder who'd actually have some stones.  
    The Mandalorian followed Lidah out of the conference room and into the ship's armory. She noticed the woman store her colleague's spear and stood silently, taking a moment to appreciate how Lidah hadn't tried taking any of her things. 
    More silence ensued as the two options were given, but Kyram had already made up her mind. Chasing after buyers had many opportunities to set traps, but why take that route when a straight line was much faster? Mrs. DeVoss likely knew where her husband was, or at least had a way of finding it. Setting traps was a simple enough task to entrust for the others. Plus, if Lidah was injured, this job would either become an uphill battle or end rather quickly. 
    That couldn't happen.
    "I'll do it," Kyram replied.

[Ash]

So far, what Darmid got from everyone was that everyone was just a large bunched of mismatched castoffs who would be lucky to get this mission done. His calculating eyes scanned everyone closer now, sizing everyone up and sorting them. The woman who clearly seemed to be in charge was definitely his 'old boss' so to speak. This Es-Tee girl was, quite frankly a messy person, and didn't look like she belonged outside at all. Tech support at best. She spoke with sarcasm, her voice taunting sardonic. Darmid's red eyes narrowed slightly at her.

And then there was the Mandalorian. She spoke to Es-Tee.. well more talked down to her, as if Bo was better than the other woman. Mandalorians tended to think that way.

After some more conversation, they moved to a different room, Lidah taking his spear and sticking it inside of a locker, sealing it up. As if that would keep him from it, but luckily it wasn't the only thing he brought. His eyes laid on her, cold all the same, but didn't say nor act on it. He leaned against the door frame, still listening to Lidah and her plan. She needed someone to pose as a bodyguard.

Who better that than an armored Mandalorian. Even before the armored woman spoke about taking that position, Darmid looked to her knowingly. Sure as shit, Bo offered to be the guard.

"So that takes care of you and the turtle here"

Darmid indicated to Bo, using an old term he use to for heavily armored personnel.

"What about me and speedy? I assume there's more to do than hang out like happy little pawns."

'Speedy' would probably remain back and play tech support. Her skills laid there. As for himself, he had a few guesses, like playing the husband who makes a big scene. Another good one would be to ninja his way in, as he used to to to places in the war, and kill and take that gemstone when they find its location. He turned his gaze back to Lidah, no emotion on his face and intelligent eyes thinking of different actions despite his words.

[Moonfire]

Glee worked it’s way across the diminutive human’s face, right hand thrusting back into her bag of orange-dusted chips, grabbing a handful as she delighted in the armoured woman’s clear irritation. Obnoxious cow. The possibilities here were endless, every barbed word and needling comment at her disposal danced on the tip of Es-Tee’s tongue, swallowed back with a rough handful of chips. A few crunches and puffs of dust later and she spoke. “Am I gonna do somethin’ ‘bout it? Naw, dawg. I’m not your fuckin’ preschool teacher here to help ya get your shoes on an’ pin your mittens to your armour. But if you want any pointers today on uppin’ your insult game lemme know.”

Another brush of fingertips cascaded the last remaining crumbs from Qiki’s ratty hoodie to settle across the floor, slightly more out of sight as she stood to follow the group, Lidah’s explanation of the job cool and professional as always.

And putting the gross dude’s pokey stick into a locker? What a fuckin’ power move. Stretching some Qiki watched as Lidah laid out the two options, pleased her favorite of the two was still up for grabs. Go address the con man’s distressed wife or pretend to be the galaxy’s greatest art connoisseur? You better believe Qiks knew exactly what she wanted.

"What about me and speedy? I assume there's more to do than hang out like happy little pawns."

Qiki raised an eyebrow at Lancer, face twisted and prepared for a full scale mock. “Jibbers Crabst, dude. Key literally just said we got two leads. She an’ Boo-Boo are goin’ as private investigators-- You an’ I are gonna go pretend we give a shit ‘bout art.” Picking up her datapad she summoned the list of a few art buyers, museums and other places Reynard was likely to make contact. “Listening is fundamental, my guy.”

Grinning widely Qiki dipped her head back and forth, mulling over her own cover for this. “Costume change montage time. I’m gonna be renowned Art Collector and Historian Viola Murkin, an’ you’ll be my man-servant; Dervish. Cool? Cool.”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr Lidah nodded once. Any and all personal preferences aside – and after so many years with the Sith, she kind of appreciated Qiki’s irreverence – it was very clear that the infamous slicer and the mandalorian could use some time away from each other. She certainly wouldn’t tolerate any bloodshed aboard the Augur Hawk. Happy little pawns. Lidah turned her head and sneered at Speartip. His good humor seemed to have vanished, as had hers. In recent mouths especially her patience for strange force users had worn paper thin. ”Would you rather work this job alone? Be my guest. It’s a fatter share of the reward for the rest of us.” Her gaze flickered to Qiki, one shoulder rising and falling. This ‘Viola’ cover was a new one, difficult to picture given the slicer’s rather lax standards of personal grooming. Alas, she’d only get to witness it second hand. ”Like she said, sale or no, Reynard’s probably shopped this thing around. We need to know everything we can about Mr. DeVoss and his habits. Bo, I’ll meet you at the Equinox Tea Room when you’re ready.” Resting the umbrella on her shoulder, Lidah disembarked, leaving her ship and those aboard in Hertz’ very capable hands. The Equinox Tea Room was rather stuffy, in Lidah’s opinion. Muted earth tones broken up by the occasional potted plant, porcelain teaware on display and crowding every available surface. Mrs. DeVoss looked right at home, an elegant brunette just beginning to go gray. Lidah clasped her hand briefly and took a seat at the table. Pleasantries passed between them for several minutes, building a rapport, a rhythm. Not unlike priming a prisoner for interrogation, she thought. Lidah placed a pocket recorder on the table and switched it on. ”So when, exactly, did the trouble start?”

[Moonfire]

“Gauche, truly gauche.” Qiki remarked, free hand gesturing widely to an expansive stone relief carefully excavated from an ancient religious tomb on some backwater planet no one cared about. It depicted common life on the marsh-planet, harvesting insects and grinding them into nutri-dust, a few scenes of what were either guards or some sort of serial murderer force-- It was always hard to tell with these sorts of works.

The Prahzi Heritage Institute of Cultural Significance and Galactic Exhibition Center had a number of exhibits out today, this ancient marsh-world’s tepid lifecycle among them. Beside the massive stone relief stood recreations of the native life depicted in waxy glass-eyed dullness. No wonder they’d all died out after some horrible dragonfly plague.

Qiki, no no Viola Murkin, turned about in a flutter of plush black and white speckled fur, the thin black dress clinging jauntily to the petite woman’s scant hips as she waved her long cigarra holder. The slicer had gone all out for this persona, her usual heaped pile of dreadlocks and curls fluffed eccentrically as a large pair of glasses with thick lenses magnified her eyes to comical size.

“Mrs. Murkin--?” The museum director, a Mr. Milford Wuzzles with a shock of bright red hair and a hard to place though quite Republic accent, appeared in a flourish as Qiki’s heels clacked brightly across the museum’s marble.

“Mizz Murkin, dahling. Haven’t let a man tie me down yet, have I Dervish?” The woman barked, heading tilting back to the man behind her as a hand gestured once more to another piece. This one was Zelosian in design, depicting a young vaguely green woman. “How audacious! A sugar-fiend!” She laughed again, leaning back so Speartip could join her if he was any good at picking up social cues.

“Yes, well-- Your message stated to meet you directly-- I’m unsure how you got access to my personal frequency, most requests are through my assistant…” The man mumbled, glancing over the pair with a wary expression.

“Milford, dahling, I’m Viola Murkin.” She insisted, drawing out the fake accent. “I get ahold of who I want, when I want. Now, dahling-- As you probably already know, I’m quite the collector of artifacts and art pieces and I’m putting together a new gallery on Zeltros. Dervish here, you remember Dervish don’t you, Milford?--” She tilted her head back to Lancer. “Is my manservant. We’re looking for something I think will set the grand antechamber ablaze, you know? Obviously, your museum can’t sell me anything of real cultural significance, but I was curious if you know anyone dealing in what I’m looking for? Held me grasp inspiration by the reigns, you know, dahling?”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr “You must have heard all this before, a hundred times. He’s an artist, my Reynard. Always a bit secretive, temperamental about his work. When he’s not traveling.” Mrs. DeVoss’s brow creased and she looked down at her hands, pale against the dark wood and spider webbed with bluish veins. Hands gave age away like nothing else. She fiddled with her jewelry and seemed to gather herself. “It’s been nearly twenty years. I’m used to that. But this time he didn’t stay, even for a day, just went directly on to his ‘studio.’ A summer home we had built, oh, I don’t know … Eight years ago?” Lidah made a small encouraging sound, doodling on her tablet with a light stylus. Winters would be expected to take notes – Lidah just wanted an address. Where was that mandalorian, anyway? Bo going into business for herself represented a potentially disastrous complication. ”And you believe he’s still out there?” “I don’t know. He doesn’t return my calls. I tried to go up three times but he’s had the security codes changed!” ”That’s … Hm.” Grounds to involve real authorities, surely. Something that Lidah wanted nothing to do with. She frowned in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner and handed Mrs. DeVoss a napkin. A moment of sniffling and tear-drying passed unremarked upon. ”What was your husband working on recently? If you don’t mind my asking.” “What has that got to do with anything?” DeVoss blew her nose, a surprisingly big noise for such a dainty person. “A sculpture, I think.” Lidah’s device chimed softly, a new message received in her most personal of secret accounts. The drug’s real. ”I’d like to surveil the place for a couple of days. See if your husband’s in there, whether he has any visitors. Now, as previously discussed, my rates are very competitive … “ Lidah walked out of the Equinox Tea Room, sheltering under her umbrella from the warm, misty rain. The vague beginnings of a plan were forming in her head. She’d need Qiki, of course, to foil the security corp. It was hard not to feel bad for the wife, though. She knew a thing or two about long distance relationships herself. And of competing against work for the love of a driven man. How much worse if she were not similarly driven? ”Shit. I really hope it’s not an affair.” Though anything else would be vastly more complicated. Though the job called for Reynard’s death or deliverance into something worse than death.

[Ash]

A nice suit, top hat, white gloves, clacking shoes, and a top hat rounded off Darmid's outfit for this occasion. He thought his hat was a bit tall, even for being a top hat, but hey, Qiki was dressed just as insane, so why not play it off. He had a look on his face like he was above everyone, chin slightly upturned and eyes narrowed slightly.

He gazed at artwork as Qiki looked at, playing off of her. As generally a warrior. this was all new to him, so he just gazed at everything with his better than everyone else look. He looked down at his petite partner as she mentioned his name for this occasion.

"Not at all, ma'am. Not at all"

He changed his voice and accent, extending out his vowels almost awkwardly as he spoke, and let his eyes drift over the man Qiki was talking to.

Soon, after a bit more chat, he stepped up to his partner, keeping alongside her as she pointed out some artwork. He had a distaste look on his face as he looked at the artwork. Yatta yatta, more chit chat as he looked around and waited for stuff to happen.

[flashfyr]

    Safety. The concept was really nothing more than a reason to be complacent - an even playing field was always good in theory... until someone broke the rules. No blaster in hand, no fancy lightsaber to block bolts, no shield to protect Kyram and Lidah from someone who could open fire on them at a moment's notice. So why would the Mandalorian stay by her partner's side? The real danger was in the perimeter - the distance. A pair of hazel eyes stared out through a slit in her gray burqa. The rest of her body was wrapped by a large cloth of the same color; unusual for the area but certainly not attention drawing in this galaxy of robe-wearing pedestrians.
    Those trained eyes scanned the room, especially the individuals on the outskirts or who entered the tea house. However, weapons were not the only thing Kyram searched for. Who else was watching Lidah and Mrs. Devoss' exchange? In this world, it was hardly above anyone to have their friends or family followed. Thus far though, Kyram's observations had come up relatively empty. She would have preferred to ask a few questions herself, but Lidah's safety was imperative, and protecting the woman with her back turned and nothing to fight with would have been a foolhardy mistake if anything had happened. 
    And so Kyram circled the perimeter discretely, always watching... waiting... 

---

    Fortunately, the meeting with Mrs. Devoss passed rather quickly. When Lidah left, Kyram gave one last sweep to ensure no one followed her and then exited herself. Rain pattered against the Mandalorian's disguise as she caught up to Lidah, not caring to get under the umbrella though. 

[Moonfire]

Milford Wuzzles hadn’t a single earthly idea what Qiki was talking about. In fact, he was fairly certain that he’d never seen his caricature of a human being in his entire life. He’d distinctly remember if he had. Stuttering to start he took a single look at the top-hatted man behind her and wondered briefly if this was all an elaborate prank put together by his rival Forzstrum of the Prazhi Art Exhibition Hall. “Muh-miss Murkin? I’m afraid I haven’t the--”

Milford’s perplexed stuttering was quickly interrupted by the chime of a datapad. Extending a bright red fingertip Qiki paused the gentleman, pulling out her stick-covered slate. A few swipes of her finger later and she shrugged, the massive spotted fur about her shoulders nearly sliding off as she frowned through the message. It was a short missive from Lidah, her side of the investigation thus far proving to be more fruitful.

3232 Wallibeh Way. Do not enter.

“Baller.” Qiki nodded, tucking the datapad back away at Milford attempted to gather himself again. “Alright, my guy. Couplah quick questiononinis and then I’mma jet.” Plucking the oversized glasses from her face Qiki’s usual demeanor melted back into her. “Any blonde dudes or associates try an’ sell ya ah crystal or anythin’ today?”

“M-m-miss Murkin this--this is outrag-- What the devil is going on right now?” The man sputtered again, plucking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the glistening beads of sweat from his forehead.


“I asked a pretty fuckin’ direct question, my dude. Prefer a direct answer. Any big-ass crystals or what?” Qiki asked, head cocked to a threatening angle despite her short stature and clearly unarmed appearance.

“No, the Prazhi Heritage--”

“Fuckin’ lame. Let’s go, Dervish. Got a better lead elsewhere.” Tilting her head towards the exit Qiki shrugged again, the oversized fur sliding back up her shoulders as the stepped resolutely back out into the now fading sunlight of the busy city street.

“Call us a speeder.” She snapped, tossing off the huge coat to deposit it one handed into the nearest waste bin, hands moving quickly to her bag to let Lidah know they were enroute.

----------------------------------------------------------

Reynard DeVoss’ summer home was secluded up a winding mountainside in crisp clean minimalist styles. Stark black on white with wide windows, now shuttered closed in the process of some sort of lockdown. What a lame fucking house for a lame little shit-weasel. The sort of place you swear you’ll bring the extended family to every year but you mostly use to flex at your neighbors about how well-off you are, without looking too well off, you know. Stars forbid your spicehead sister knew exactly how much money you actually had, DeVoss.

Clingy dress was shifted higher up her hips, tied off as she pulled out her much more familiar slicer gear, lovingly made keys plugging directly into a now ruined panel of Reynard’s fancy house. “So, how much we wanna bet the dudes in there havin’ like, a fuckin’ lame-ass old person orgy?”

[Neology]

[googlefont="News Cycle"]

Moonfire Ash flashfyr Lidah peered up at the house as Qiki fiddled with the door. Two stories, small garage … No speeders other than their own in sight. She let her Force concealment drop, let her senses stretch out freely. One – no, two? - presences in the home. And beyond that, a looming disquiet, a dry and slightly rancid psychic taste on the air. It was strangely quiet on the mountain for a summer evening. No birdsong, no buzzing insects. Only the light electrical hum of the security panel’s guts. Diverted instead of cut, good; no way to guess how much time they’d need. ”I don’t think so, Esse-Tee. Unless they all walked here.” Lidah glanced over the others. Hard to say how they’d take orders even if she were inclined to give them, solo mercenaries being what they were – exactly what she was playing at being herself. ”Remember, Nabbu’s paying extra if we take him alive.” Brief and self-interested, that seemed role appropriate. Lidah popped the sliding door open and stepped inside. ”I guess yell or something if you find ‘im.” The home’s sleek, modern design continued within, broken up by spotlit pieces of art. Reynard’s original works? Lidah couldn’t say. There was little other light. She passed a few moments of peering into dark rooms and listening at doors. It was terribly quiet. No vidfeed playing in any room, no conversation. Certainly no geriatric groaning as might be expected of a ‘lame ass old person orgy.’ Finally, she picked a room at the end of the hall, the door already ajar. Lidah flicked on the light. Reynard’s studio, slightly cluttered. Surfaces piled with chips and pieces of crystal and semi-precious stone in every shade or tint of violet. Glossy photographs of Nabbu’s treasure pinned to the wall, exact measurements scrawled on bits of scrap paper. Tools for cutting and shaping and a great deal of dust in the air. Sharp, unpleasant chemical smells. Lidah almost tripped over the dog, when she found it. It lay on its side, contorted and quite dead. Dried blood crusted on the muzzle, the flesh cold and rigid to the touch. ”Huh. What happened to you?”

[Ash]

Darmid kept his eyes on Qiki as she shifted her persona over from... whoever the hell she was playing to her usual quirky personality. Personally, he preferred this odd thing of her; it made things much more fun. God knew he needed more fun in his life besides farming and getting pissed off at droids that seem to break down every few weeks or so.

Bringing his mind back, he reached out slowly with the force, feeling around as Qiki did her thing, but it seemed fruitless as the man she was talking to didn't seem to have any worthwhile information. Whatever she had on her tablet told him that Lidah had discovered something. He left with his partner, getting a speeder so they could get to their next location.

-----------------------------------

"If it is some sort of old people orgy..."

Darmid shuttered slightly at his thoughts, forcing them out and trying to ignore the slicer. They met up with the other two at this house and were now attempting to break in... well, breaking in. It seemed with this slicer there was no attempting anything. It was do or do not. Quickly enough, it was opened.

Darmid reached out carefully with the force, ignoring Lidah completely and feeling... two others inside. He didn't like it, especially walking around with a weapon. He pulled himself back, wrapping the force around himself and fallowing Lidah inside, matching his footsteps to hers out of habit. He fallowed her around the house, not really as a shadow but an extra set of eyes and force senses: there were strength in numbers.

A few empty, quiet rooms later and they found some sort of studio, crystals and shit laying around. How fun. He fallowed her, and noticed how she almost tripped over a dog, a hand from him instinctively reaching out to help steady her before he quickly pulled it back, letting his senses flow out.

"It looks as if its been dead for a minute. Think it attacked someone before it was put down? I don't know if the blood on it is its own. Not all of it at least"

He kept his voice quiet and even: entirely the professional, cold warrior he was for years.