Cheating By the Rules

[Kella]

There were some things that simply could not be done alone.

Sometimes, employees were required. 'Teamwork'? Definitely not. He had no intention of appreciating their feedback. 'Aid'? Certainly no. He was more than capable of doing other things with his time. However, he had decided on a new occupation. Which did occasionally, it seemed, necessitate the hiring of temporary employees.

Umgul was not the first place to come to mind when looking for some grimy bit of slime on the heel of sentiency's shoe. Then again, neither was Coruscant. But that hardly stopped them.

Umgul, with its thick white mists, seemed clean. Picturesque. If not a little enignmatic. Gambling was one of its cultural backbones, centered around the races. There were, of course, other industries and trades and what-nots, but it seemed that these days each planet had its own prevailing trait.

They took cheating very seriously. Punishable-by-death seriously.

But there was a sort of cheating that didn't break the rules; it was the sort of cheating made iron-clad and diamond-plated by a single, irrefutable signature.

Debt. "An ingenious substitute for the ball and chain of slavery" someone had once called it. A very apt description, Rembrant could confidently say.

They were called 'loan sharks'. Banks gave loans every day. But those things had limits, records, paper trails, and credit checks. Off-the-book loans were immediate. They were cash. They could be as large or small as you wanted.

But there was a very important keynote difference. When you failed to repay a bank loan, the collateral was material. A house. A vehicle. When you failed to repay a shark's loan, the collateral was your life.

Rembrant considered all these things as he sat on an unwelcoming stadium seat. Far to the right was the gargantuan screen currently showing a close-up of the action, and even farther below the actual race. These were the seats so horrible that Rembrant had the whole row to himself, and was separated by the first of the spectators below by a full five.

He was waiting. Two weeks ago, he had paid a small sum to put an add in a particular publication that made its way throughout the mid rim, but not far beyond. It was a very specific sort of publication; the kind that would only attract the sort of person he was looking for.

It was what this particular something-that-couldn't-be-done-alone necessitated. He had had some response, and replied simply with the date and time of this race, and the sector and row in which he could be found.

The crowd suddenly erupted into a chaotic cacophony of cheers and boos. Some person whose name would be remembered for a while, had beat another someone whose name would be remembered for an equal while, and both would be remembered perhaps for a generation or two. These spectators screamed and yelled as if this event was the most prolific and profound event to ever have happened in their generation, while elsewhere twenty-million-odd planets minus one went about their daily planets, oblivious and uncaring towards this victory.

Rembrant had decided that a particular man was going to die. Some might have demanded to know by what means he had this authority, or how he was so superior to the rest of the race to decide who would live, and who would not. But Rembrant dismissed all this, because he was not a man of moral, or ethics, or conscience. He'd been seduced by the Dark Side of all that was, and he knew this well. His actions did not need justification, or reason, or purpose, they simply were.

Even so, his actions did have some reason and purpose. But they lacked justification. Murder was murder. But he already had so much blood on his hands, what was one man's more? A dozen more? A hundred more? He'd deserve whatever penance he paid.

That was, he supposed, a perk of having been seduced. He didn't have to care about such things, or be perturbed by them. In the least.

This man, the one that would die, was a loan shark. Perhaps it was a sort of revenge. But Rembrant had been called to action in a very peculiar way, one that he was not quite ready to ruminate on. For the moment, it simply was what it was.

His name was Miles Shift. He advertised in a very amicable manner, and only a wise few realized, when they signed their name, that the interest rate was over a hundred percent. Of course, those that fell into such things were usually drunk with lust or desperation. Rembrant, being the highly intelligent man that he was, had calculated that Miles Shift had grossed 2.3 million credits last standard year. He resided deep within his personal mansion, surrounded with layers of personal security, blowing smoke rings and sitting on his pile of jewels and gold.

A mansion that was not far out of this particular city, and a mansion that, with the added efforts of a few temporary employees, would be laid open, and its precious treasure ravaged.


So Rembrant waited.

Watched and waited.

[Casual]

((I know Rembrant is a hermit, not a traveler, Teer is going to refer to him as traveler, though seeing as how he'd feel that type of aged, faint, seen-enough-pain-in-his-lifetime Force-sensitive and his action of leaving Ruusan in that way

ALSO, I took some liberties with the advertisement and contacting of Rembrant and how Teer would find out about and locate Rembrant and his "employee" PLZ PM MEH if this needs changed FANKS))

What brought Teeramok to Ruusan, he would never know, but what he felt leaving the planet as he arrived, could only be the work of the Force. Of course, Teer did not believe in such things, but finding a faint, albeit very much sensitive, Force signature that resonated similar to his own, he could not help but question a potential universal providence. He had to investigate. Explaining this to Rade as they landed, plowing through a few robotic sighs and harangues, inquiring about the destination of the ship that had just left, and purchasing a passage - fortuitously - to learned destination due to depart the next day, he was after the individual. What drove him on was nothing more than his incredulous nature to learn, and quite possibly: teach.

When he arrived to Umgul, he had no idea where to start. He'd recognize the signature if he felt it again, but it was so faint, and among these multiple lifeforms on so filthy a planet - interesting, but filthy - he had no way of locating the traveler. This could have been thought out better. Rade made that understanding clear to the point of crystal a mere walk to a Cantina. It was there that Teer grabbed -as custom - a local publication and proceeded to look for a temporary job.

One stood out, and he could not quite explain why, but the Force resonated with him in the very words. Not to mention, it was similar to some work he'd already been a part of. To the rational and Force-deprived Rade, it was utter nonsense. All the more reason for Teer to be on board.

He sent word to the advertiser, information that revealed nothing of his Force-sensitivity obviously, however, was rejected for not having supplied enough credentials on previous engagements. This was true, as he had supplied none in his application, that always seemed to be the case, but he was not dissuaded.

It was a week and a half later that he decided to pay a visit to a particular race. He was running low on credits, so a good round of betting should put him back on his feet. Not to mention, that in their years of travelling, Rade had grown fond of such forms of entertainment. Both would be appeased.

He chose to sit in the cheap seats, having no desire to spend the extra credits to be any closer. He just needed to see the results. He cheered on his racer shamelessly as it got underway, little did he know who sat just below him was the traveler he'd come to Umgul for in the first place...

((Yea, so he's sitting above Rembrant, uh... like I said... uh... PM me with any discrepancies ))

[Rugs]

Sometimes, it was just best not to think on things. Tsubasa had learned that sometimes, when an opportunity came your way, it was best to simply take it and deal with the ramifications later.

He was certain his former mentor was off turning in his grave at the thought of it.

However, the simple fact remained that, though he did not live for money, he did need money to live, or to continue to do so in any degree of comfort. And so that was why he found himself taking the occasional job, when he wasn't wandering the stars at his own leisure. They were often simple affairs: guard this man, work for security at this event, help hunt down this escaped criminal. Enough to keep himself with a sufficient store of credits for his own use and to keep his skills from getting rusty in the process.

But there were times, once every blue moon, where he craved more, wanted something more thrilling. Times where he actively sought out a job that would be dangerous. Whether it was for thrill or to test himself, he couldn't say for sure, but it always happened. Face the thrill, get satisfied, and then the cycle would repeat again somewhere down the line. It never failed.

And so that was why, when he'd come across a vague advertisement put out by some mysterious person he didn't know, he found his interest caught and held. Normally such things would be brushed off, but with that want growing, Tsubasa was feeling a little bolder. So he touched back with the advertiser. Nothing much came back to him, just a date and time to meet, along with a location on Umgul.

Barsavi would've called it stupidity. On most days, Tsubasa would have agreed with him.

Today was not most days, however.

Instead of brushing off the ad as simple foolishness, Tsubasa found himself walking down the Vagabond's boarding ramp into a cramped town on Umgul. His grey cloak hung about his shoulders, hiding the weapons that hung around his slender--if well-muscled--frame, save the tip of the hilt of the dao that was slung across his back.

There was a little mechanical being perched on his shoulder: Ifrit, the draconic familiar droid he'd been given in that strange meeting on Kuat. Ifrit's holographic wings, shaped to look like those of a dragon, where a bright red and pierced even the thick fog around them for a few meeters. And where Tsu was contemplatively quiet, at least for the moment, Ifrit hummed along to himself. It was a habit that annoyed at first, but he'd gotten used to it.

After a long while spent finding his way through the city, Tsu found the race track. Tickets were purchased and he was allowed entry. He watched the race for a few moments with a fleeting interest, but other matters demanded his attention.

Somewhere, within the crowd, there were two presences. Both were strong in their own right, but one of them... something stuck out about it, made Tsu shiver just a little. He wasn't about to turn back, though.

It didn't take much searching to find where the other two were sitting. One sat a row behind the other, both in terrible seating, but that didn't matter. Tsu paused for a moment on finding them and let his amber-eyed gaze drift from one to the other. The one in front, the Arkanian. His was that presence that was so cold, so unlike anything Tsu had ever felt before.

What have I gotten myself into?

Never the one to let his wariness show though, Tsu simply sat into a seat on the same row as the Arkanian man, leaving a single empty seat between them. He leaned back comfortably, kicked a foot up on the vacant spot before him. Ifrit scampered down his shoulder and onto the seat between them.

"So," he said after a few moments of silence, glancing over to the Arkanian, "you the one that put the ad out?"

[Kuhblam]

"Nom nom nom."

He chewed on the sandwich a bit more, tearing through the seasoned nerf burger as he sat by himself with his free arm extended across the back of the chair to his left. Tossing the revolting piece of meat onto the permacrete floor in a casual fashion, he yawned before pulling his arms back and resting his head on his hands. How long had he been here, sitting in this dank and decaying stadium? It seemed like he'd been here forever. Well, five minutes wasn't that long, but he wasn't one for patience today.

Why was he here again?

The thoughts ran through his mind as fast as the racers far below in the oval-shaped arena, perhaps even a bit faster than that of the spectators whose hearts were beating beyond the recommended pace.

He was here for her.

Dulgan didn't like the name to pop up in his head too constantly, as all it did was jab at his belly a bit with the intensity of an activated vibrosword, but he and her still had a connection of sorts. He hated her but at the same time loved her all the more. He still remembered Nar Shaddaa and all the craziness from when he'd been getting those combat lessons from Allen. Regardless, she'd contacted him a month ago while he was on Prazhi, told him she needed his help---- and he'd agreed like the poor sap he was to deal with her problem. It was a minor issue, she'd said, that all he needed to do was talk a little bit and that everything for her would go back to normal. Well, that had been something of a major understatement. In fact, that last word didn't even begin to describe it. Miles Shift had been the only name he'd been given, and that she had a bit of debt to him. Of course, she'd stated it wasn't anything large. He reminded himself once more that nothing that woman ever said was to be taken at face value. Ever. If anything, that crazy witch would owe him big time once he got off this planet and contacted her that everything was finished.

However, before he got to that part, he had to deal with Miles Shift, talk him out of trying to hunt her down for collection fees or at least "persuade" him, albeit non-fatally, that she wasn't worth the trouble. However, his mansion was surrounded by personal security and was heavily guarded. And so he'd gone through the gauntlet of his list of contacts, pulling small favors here and there for information. Indeed, his sociability had finally come through for him. A buddy had linked him to a specific ad on the holo-channels, as well as to some information that wasn't being displayed with it that filled in the blanks that completed the vagueness of the publications.

He'd watched it, studied it, and watched it again.

He'd also decided that he wouldn't be joining in for such distasteful sport.

There was nothing but murder involved in such a job, and Dulgan wouldn't have any part of it. Granted, however, he could take advantage of it. He would stay hidden, follow them in, and perhaps extract Miles, alive of course, and talk him at sword point. He was being naive, of course, as it probably wouldn't play out that way, but he would try. Worst case scenario? Miles died, and he went about his merry way. At any rate, he was here; more specifically, here without all of his gear. He had his lightsaber, but had left just about everything but his pistol back with Terren on the ship. The only other thing he knew was the location of Mile's mansion. That said, eavesdropping on this future conversation and following the participants would be most enlightening. He'd followed this Arkanian fellow, had elicited his seat information, and placed himself appropriately. Still concealed by line of sight due to the thick column to his immediate left and by the severing of his connection to the Force, he sat, didn't necessarily watch, and waited.

[Kella]

"So, You the one who put the add out?"

He was a young man, looked prepared enough, and seemed to be followed by a metallic lizard contraption. Rembrant did not look at him directly, however; rather, he continued to survey the race.

"Hm." It was more of a grunt than an acknowledgement, but an acknowledgement all the same.

Rembrant probed outward with the Force. There was a man who had chosen a seat several rows behind, who left a lingering presence in the Force. This was most interesting. Something else was tugging at the edge of Rembrant's perception, but in a crowd of so many, it was probably insignificant.

Of more interest, though, was that this young man was also a Force adept. A regular little Force-party, up here in the nosebleeds. Rembrant was beginning to suspect that his whole time on this planet would be plagued by that ethereal influence.

When it seemed almost as if Rembrant had forgotten about the man, he turned to look at him. His expression was contemplative, his gaze shifting from one thing to another, assessing Tsu. Rembrant analyzed the man as one would analyze a used vehicle, searching for any flaws to weight against the buyer. After a long moment, he looked back out over the race.

"What is your moral stance in regards to murder?"

[Rugs]

{Alright, Cas seems to have vanished so I guess I'll go ahead}

This guy's a weird one. Tsu made sure that his observation of the Arakanian man wasn't overly obvious. His attention rested on the race for the most part, with the occasional glance in his direction. There were the others, of course, and the few legitimate spectators that were sprinkled far out away from them. But they were all insignificant for the moment, compared to the Arkanian.

His answer to Tsubasa's question was short and brusque, hardly an answer at all. Tsu nearly opened his mouth to make light of it, but something held his tongue. It was the feeling of the man in the Force, surely. He had a weight, a presence to him that made even the cocksure young Matukai think twice before opening his mouth carelessly. So he didn't say anything.

Instead, he looked ahead and propped his foot up on the back of the seat before him and waited. Ifrit's claws clacked softly on the top of his chair as he adjusted himself to view the race down below. A few moments of fidgeting passed until the droid finally just hopped down onto the flat of the seat so he could sit on his haunches, tail curled around his leg.

The silence stretched on for moments. Moments turned to minutes, and an almost uneasy anticipation started to settle in Tsu's stomach. He hid it well, tapping his fingers on the back of his seat and humming tunelessly. But for all the outward nonchalance, he wanted to know what he was being hired for.

Is he even paying attention to us? His amber eyes, a bit duller than usual in Umgul's muted light, flicked over at the Arkanian. How long is he just gonna sit there?

"What is your moral stance in regards to murder?"

"Er... wha?" The words escaped Tsu's throat before he could stop them. He looked fully at the Arkanian, blinking at the unexpected and odd question. "Murder?"

What kind of question is that?

Tsubasa sighed a sigh that seemed more to be blowing air from his cheeks than anything as he turned to look down at the race again. Clearly, the question was being asked to gauge him, but what for?

Ifrit's wings shifted in color, moving just a little closer to a wary yellow; they still remained quite red, if just a bit more touched by orange than they had been. His claws clicked lightly on the chair as he stood and looked at Tsubasa. But for once, he didn't say anything.

"Well," Tsu started slowly, "can't really say I'm a fan of it. Something I don't make a habit of doing, for reason I think are pretty easy to guess." He shrugged slightly. Perhaps it wasn't the answer the Arkanian was looking for, but better to tell the truth than lie through his teeth.

"Though," he went on, "I gotta say that's a pretty odd question." The tattoos on his face distorted slighlty as he lifted a brow at the Arkanian. "Would I be wrong in assuming this has something to do with why you hired us?"

[Kella]

"No." Rembrant answered simply. "If you chose to become my employee, you will receive a value equivalent to minimum wage applied to the number of hours of work time expected as an advance. If you do not fail to obey all my orders, you will receive an additional sum three times that, upon the completion of the work."

The roar of the crowd was building again, the current race was almost finished. "Which," Rembrant continued, almost sounding disinterested, "Puts you far better off than everyone who bet on Blue Haze. Rocketbeam, foolish name though that is, is about to win."

As Rembrant finished speaking, the beast named 'Rocketbeam' seemed steadily locked into third, while 'Blue Haze' had a solid lead. But then, suddenly, Rocketbeam began to surge forward, crossing the finish line neck-in-neck with Blue haze. There was a moment of silence, a hush over the crowd, before the photo of the finish appeared on the stadium screen. Cries of dismay and joy filled the stadium as all saw that Rocketbeam had won.

Rembrant seemed unaffected.

"The important question for you to answer isn't so much if it's an odd job, as it obviously is, but rather, if the credits are worth it."

The Arkanian turned to face the young man, glossy white gaze waiting for an answer.

[Rugs]

{O: I didn't even know you posted here}


Tsubasa pondered the Arkanian's offer for a long, quiet moment. The hourly charge wasn't much to get excited over; he could likely do better by picking any number of other jobs that were available to him. But the bonus that'd come from successfully completing it was enough to give him pause, make him consider.

He watched the race, using the break to consider, and to see if the Arkanian was right in his prediction.

Unsurprisingly, he was.

Rocketbeam--who'd come up with that name, anyway?--had a surge at the end and claimed first place. Cries of joy and anger filled the stadium at once.

Tsu didn't have a horse in the race, so he didn't care much. Still... He looked at the Arkanian, who was looking at him with those unnerving, milky-white eyes.

"The important question for you to answer isn't so much if it's an odd job, as it obviously is, but rather, if the credits are worth it."

If the credits are worth it... With the kind of pay being offered, he could go for a while without needing to do another job. But a murder? Tsubasa wasn't sure.

So he decided to deflect answering for a moment.

"Tell me," he said, leaning back in his hard seat and scratching thoughtfully at the side of his chin. "Who's the man you're after?" Some vestige of light that wasn't completely diffused by the fog caught in the amber of his eyes as he looked at the Arkanian, with a single dark brow arched questioningly. "And why does he need to die?"