Post by Rugs on Dec 27, 2019 17:58:56 GMT -5
“I think I’ll have another one,” Io’an said to the serving droid as it ambled by. “I’ve got some time to burn.” A sliver of fluorescent red drink remained in the short glass with flaring sides on the table in front of him. Io’an threw it back and set down the empty cup. A lava crush, the drink was called; a local homage to Sleheyron’s volcanic geology. Io’an pushed his lips together, blowing burn settled down his throat and into his gut. Some sort of spice went into the drink. He didn’t know what, but it was a real kick in the pants.
He was a fan.
Io’an sat at a small, round table in the back corner of Last Call cantina. The table was old and scarred from Force only knew how many years of use, and would’ve tilted slightly to the side if not for the napkin stuffed under one of its feet. The cramped cantina was much the same itself — old and worn, but warmer for it. Out on the edge of one of Sleheyron’s urban zones, that was all that was needed. The locals seemed to think it a small miracle their favorite watering hole made it through the Archeri occupation unscathed.
It is, Io’an told himself as the serving droid returned with a fresh lava crush and relieved him of the empty glass. Io’an nodded at the droid as it passed, the violet rings that circled his irises glinting dimly in the dull light.
He doubted anywhere except maybe Nal Hutta bore the Archeri’s wrath as acutely as Nar Shaddaa, but the signs of their coming were all around on Sleheyron. It’d take years for the world to rebuild, same as anywhere else in Hutt Space. If he listened for it, he could still feel the echoes the shock of so much death had left behind on the world in the Force.
Not here for that, Io’an, he reminded himself as he eyed his new drink.
He was here — as Draco — to see if a candidate who’d caught the Exchange’s eye during the siege passed muster for joining the enterprising criminal organization. Viggo Loroto, or Vig, as Io’an understood he preferred to be called, had done some good work during the siege of Nar Shaddaa.
Still, working as a contractor was a different animal than joining the Exchange fully--as he himself knew well--and so Vig would be put to the test.
Some weeks ago, Vig received a message from Draco. It was, of course, encrypted, in a cipher that altered itself just so every three hours. It was a hard nut to crack — made intentionally frustrating — but there were subtle hints and patterns within that any slicer worth their salt should be able to figure out with time.
Should Vig crack the code, he'd find a set of coordinates that led to Sleheyron and a second that led to the Last Call cantina, along with a message signed at the bottom with a vector art dragon head.
Big Man,
Word gets around about you, even with the mushrooms from hell setting everything on fire. If you can read this before the date listed above, it means you might be worth half a damn. Come to the included coordinates on the designated day and we’ll chat about some opportunities.
You’ve got til sundown.
Io’an glanced at the dusty window at the cantina’s far side. The day’s light was fading, the shadows across the old wooden floorboards growing longer. Time’s running out, he thought, straightening a jacket sleeve. He raised his glass with a grin and downed the whole crush in one go. The burn was invigorating.
Will you show?
He was a fan.
Io’an sat at a small, round table in the back corner of Last Call cantina. The table was old and scarred from Force only knew how many years of use, and would’ve tilted slightly to the side if not for the napkin stuffed under one of its feet. The cramped cantina was much the same itself — old and worn, but warmer for it. Out on the edge of one of Sleheyron’s urban zones, that was all that was needed. The locals seemed to think it a small miracle their favorite watering hole made it through the Archeri occupation unscathed.
It is, Io’an told himself as the serving droid returned with a fresh lava crush and relieved him of the empty glass. Io’an nodded at the droid as it passed, the violet rings that circled his irises glinting dimly in the dull light.
He doubted anywhere except maybe Nal Hutta bore the Archeri’s wrath as acutely as Nar Shaddaa, but the signs of their coming were all around on Sleheyron. It’d take years for the world to rebuild, same as anywhere else in Hutt Space. If he listened for it, he could still feel the echoes the shock of so much death had left behind on the world in the Force.
Not here for that, Io’an, he reminded himself as he eyed his new drink.
He was here — as Draco — to see if a candidate who’d caught the Exchange’s eye during the siege passed muster for joining the enterprising criminal organization. Viggo Loroto, or Vig, as Io’an understood he preferred to be called, had done some good work during the siege of Nar Shaddaa.
Still, working as a contractor was a different animal than joining the Exchange fully--as he himself knew well--and so Vig would be put to the test.
Some weeks ago, Vig received a message from Draco. It was, of course, encrypted, in a cipher that altered itself just so every three hours. It was a hard nut to crack — made intentionally frustrating — but there were subtle hints and patterns within that any slicer worth their salt should be able to figure out with time.
Should Vig crack the code, he'd find a set of coordinates that led to Sleheyron and a second that led to the Last Call cantina, along with a message signed at the bottom with a vector art dragon head.
Big Man,
Word gets around about you, even with the mushrooms from hell setting everything on fire. If you can read this before the date listed above, it means you might be worth half a damn. Come to the included coordinates on the designated day and we’ll chat about some opportunities.
You’ve got til sundown.
Io’an glanced at the dusty window at the cantina’s far side. The day’s light was fading, the shadows across the old wooden floorboards growing longer. Time’s running out, he thought, straightening a jacket sleeve. He raised his glass with a grin and downed the whole crush in one go. The burn was invigorating.
Will you show?