Cabin Fever and Short Fuses [greystone]

[Mara]

(((I know we had planned on doing something in a cantina, but I just wanted to mix it up a bit. Figured they could meet on the street, perhaps… Let me know if it doesn’t work, and I can edit. )))


[…from Passing the Time]

It had been a few days since Ean had come to the realization that his current occupation, or really, lack of one, wasn’t doing him any good. If anything, he was even unhappier, not having anything to keep his hands and mind busy. At first, it had seemed like a good idea, going into a leave of absence from the bounty hunting world, semi-retiring back to his hometown of Tyrena. He had reveled in the familiar sights and smells and had been able to finally relax for the first time in quite a while. His time was spent drinking in cantinas and bars, taking in the company of various women, cooking in the galley of his ship back in the spaceport.

But there were only so many mugs of ale he could down, so many hours he could wile away playing brain games on his datapad, before it got old. The epiphany had come when he had been in a bar and some thugs had mistaken him for someone else. Beating them off and escaping, despite how easy, had actually made him feel good. Something he hadn’t felt in months. Ean needed to get back to work, somehow, somewhere.

However, just having a glowglobe shine to life above his head wasn’t quite enough to get him started. Just because he knew he had to do something now didn’t mean he knew what it was going to be. Ean didn’t think he would want to return to bounty hunting, not in the near future at least. The whole mess of the Borgonia affair and the ensuing media frenzy had convinced him of that. But other than that small decision of what he didn’t want to do, his path was fairly hazy. He just didn’t really know how to do anything else. It had just been a part of his life for too long. His only other talent besides finding and tracking bounties was just his skill in a galley. And the Corellian could only laugh about the thought of his being gainfully employed in some restaurant somewhere.

And so he was back to where he started when he had first arrived on Corellia. He was unemployed, for lack of a better description for a bounty hunter taking a leave of absence, and living out of his ship, refusing to come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t be leaving the planet. Getting a place to stay for what he thought would be temporary condition seemed counter-intuitive to Ean. The only difference now was that he had a vague sense that he needed to change his future, take a new path, and no longer was trying to just relax.

In order to try to figure out what that would be, Ean had stayed in the Hope, searching the HoloNet with his datapad, laying on his bed staring at the bulkheads, clumsily searching through the ship’s navicomputer, hoping for some kind of inspiration to come to him. And when he got frustrated when no grand ideas came, he’d putter around in the galley, coming up with new recipes to occupy his time. Eventually even those activities had gotten tedious, and he’d find himself pacing around the ship, wondering if he’d ever be able to change the cards he’d been dealt.

When the inside of his ship began to feel smaller and his frustrations wouldn’t let him sit still for long, Ean finally ventured out again. He needed some air, a change of environment. Maybe then an idea would hit him. The Corellian pulled on his boots, belted on his holster and blaster, and shrugged into his worn leather jacket. His normal attire had become almost second nature, and most of the time he hardly realized he was doing it. At the last minute, he slipped his datapad into a pocket and headed out, locking up his ship behind him.

Ean had paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, enjoying all the nuances of the Corellian air. Despite the air scrubbers of the Hope, there was nothing like getting it firsthand in all its grimy glory. A little calmer but still feeling on edge, he left the black Dynamic and the spaceport behind, hoping for a promising cantina or similar place to spend some time.

Generally he stayed near where his ship was berthed, mostly for convenience but also for the unlikelihood of meeting beings who recognized him, or if they did, cared if they did so. Those joints were filled mostly with spacers caught up in their own business, busy beings who didn’t pay attention to the most recent news of the galaxy. But this time, Ean's restlessness found him just walking and walking, not really sure where he was going and ending up no longer in the outskirts of the city. If he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts, his focus elsewhere, he would have noticed that he was only a few blocks from the neighborhood he had grown up in. The poor area of Tyrena, filled with beings trying to scrape together a living.

Familiar noises and odors made their way into his brain, and Ean blinked, looking around at his surroundings. He was surprised to recognize the telltale signs of the factory in the distance where his father, and Ean himself for a while, had worked. His gait lessened as he looked around, seeing the rundown apartment building where his family had lived and he had just visited a few months prior after his father’s passing, having an… encounter with his eldest brother Ty. Not wanting to linger for fear of thoughts of his childhood getting him down, he took a corner at the next intersection, crisscrossing away from anything that held sway in his memories.

Luckily, he soon found himself in a more appropriate section of the city. It was still the poorer area, but this part was more commercial, less residential, more catering to what he was looking for, less to what he wanted to avoid. Ean scanned the businesses, looking for somewhere he could park himself for a while, many of them with half-broken neon signs, the rest with old-fashioned wooden ones, a few merely just a darkened doorway. The Corellian stopped in his tracks, unable to decide which establishment to head to. He wasn’t quite looking for a place to have a few drinks or waste a few hours. He had wanted a change of scenery to figure out his life. Instead, he found himself just standing on a corner, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, staring off into space, just glad to be out of his ship for awhile.

[Agent of Greystone]

(No Problem)

In hindsight, Darvek probably should’ve seen the Wampa of a man standing at the corner, but being as tipsy as he was from the Corellian ale he was swigging, he couldn’t really help it when he slammed into what felt like a brick was made out of hard muscle, and spilled his drink all over the man. Quickly losing his balance, he fell onto his back with a hard thud, and made no attempt to stand for a short while, instead proffering to stare up into the clouds with swimming vision, and try to recall what he had been doing for the past several hours.

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He remembered waking up late, as in, “half-way through the afternoon”-late, with an uncomfortable amount of hangover drilling holes in his cranium. He had been sleeping in the crummy, low quality apartments he had rented out for the month he was going to be on this world, gotten dressed, grabbed his suitcase and hurtled out the door for the last time, without paying his rent. Then he traveled to the marketplace, he purchased some travel food, climbed a 5-story building, and began to piece together his sniper-rifle.

Just as he had finished and was peering down the scope, his target came into view. The Twi’lek dark Jedi who was in the process of converting was accompanied by a figure in a brown robe who had his or her back turned to Darvek, most probably a Jedi Knight, sent with her to aid her in her rejection of the Dark Side. While it had been touching for Darvek to see a Dark Jedi attempting to undo the evil she had caused during her stay in the Galaxy, she had killed someone along the way, and that someone’s someone had paid him to send her cargo-hold to the Great Beyond or wherever Jedi go when they die.

So when the Dark Jedi’s companion had turned away, he sent a bright-red slug soaring straight into her forehead, and promptly turned her brains into a sort of meat cocktail. He didn’t stay to watch the Jedi’s reaction. He just took apart his gun, threw it in the case and ran down the stairs as fast as he could go. He knew how Jedi were, always investigating and using the Force to cheat. When he got down to the second-story, he kicked open the window and leapt out into a dumpster below. He then hopped a tram, and began to head back to the starport so he could leave back to Nar Shadaa before the police began to investigate.

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Oh yeeeaaahhh…Darvek thought to himself slowly, then how did I end up here? I’m miles away from the starport! He looked down at the broken bottle of Ale the lay next to him, and suddenly everything became clear to him. I shouldn’t drink while trying to evade the authorities… Then he remembered why he was on the ground in the first place. “Hell-“ He began, looking up at the large man. Then he realized just how big the person he just spilled Ale on was. “-Oooooooooooooh. (hic) Crap.”

[Mara]

(((Apologies for the delay… And also, if I remember right, Ean and Darvek are actually about the same height/size… ;p)))


Ean’s quiet and unfocused reverie was violently interrupted just a few moments later. A being had run into him and promptly spilled something alcoholic all over him before collapsing onto his back. Where he had once been standing in silent contemplation, his gaze and mind equally as vacant, the Corellian was now staring at an ugly bluish alien, stunned and unable to respond for the moments following the abrupt meeting. Without thinking, he reflexively removed his hands from his jacket pockets and tried wiping himself down, some of the liquid wicking off the worn leather easily. The rest of the drink that had gotten lower down on his trousers was quickly soaking in, bringing Ean back to his senses.

The alien seemed in no apparent hurry to move again, giving Ean some time to focus more deeply on the situation he had just found himself in. He quickly figured out that the being was a Weequay. Though it was hard to tell with the large alien’s current position, Ean estimated them to be of a similar height, though weight was harder to decipher. He wasn’t completely familiar with the species as a whole. Ean also readily determined the Weequay’s drunken state, seeing the broken bottle of ale and comparing it to the smell in the air and on his own clothing. Not to mention that the Weequay had fairly bounced off of Ean and landed about a meter away. The Corellian had no illusions about his own strength, but for a being that size to react in such a way, there would have had to have been an outside influence, like alcohol.

Strangely, he did not find himself getting angry right away, but instead felt rather apathetic about everything. Perhaps he was still in shock at having been interrupted in such an unusual way. After picking out what details about the alien and his surroundings he thought were important, Ean just stared down at the Weequay, who was contently looking up at the sky, not knowing how to even begin to think of an appropriate reaction to the accident. Briefly, Ean wondered if the thing was unconscious, or asleep. It was breathing, though, so it wasn’t dead. Probably just buzzed or stunned, or both.

But then the Weequay spoke; it was a short interjection, surprisingly intelligible despite the level of drunkenness encumbering the alien that Ean had earlier decided upon. At the same time, the Corellian’s bland brown eyes narrowed. His trousers started sticking uncomfortably to his legs in random cold, wet spots. The unpleasant smell of remaining ale on his leather jacket flooded his nostrils. With his initial shock and surprise gone, having finally brought his mind up to speed on what had happened in the last few moments, his true feelings and emotions were coming to the forefront. The famous Stenner temper was threatening for a release, a temper that had already been fueled by Ean’s earlier futile attempts back inside the Hope to decide his future. His arms remaining at his sides, he took a couple steps closer to the prone Weequay who was now focused on the Corellian and not the sky overhead. A low growl escaped his lips. “Watch where you’re going.”

[Agent of Greystone]

Staring up at the giant, Darvek watched with glazed eyes as the man's originally sympathetic look began to twist into a scowl, it seemed that his excuse of drunkenness wouldn't get him a free pass out of this situation. Though the man's jacket appeared to be undamaged by the alcoholic attack, his trousers were a different story, they were not only darkened, but it might take a while to get the smell of ale out of them. Despite being one of the more infamous deadly killers known throughout the galaxy, and having killed someone not two hours ago, Darvek felt oddly helpless at the moment, maybe it was the way the man towered over himself like that.

“Watch where you’re going.”

Darvek stared up at him, his eyes glossed over as he concentrated hard on thinking up something to say. In his head, Darvek's response was very polite and civil, going something like: "Yes sir, I'm very sorry sir, I insist I pay for your dry-cleaning sir." Alas, alcohol had a way of souring the relationship between mouth and brain, and by the time the thought made it from his brain to his mouth, it had been warped and twisted by evil drugs. "Aww piss off to mommy you-(hic)-rancid old bantha turd." Darvek thought it over and decided it was close enough to what he had been about to say. Slowly but surely he began to make his way to his feet and, though he slipped at one point and had to start again, eventually made it up to an off-balance, standing position.

He looked the giant in the face, and realized that the man was actually no bigger than himself really, though his limbs were more muscled than Darvek's own long lean ones. Huh, he thought to himself. He looked a lot bigger while I was lying on my back. Once he got a good look at him, Darvek got the indication that he had seen the man's face somewhere before, though for the life of him he couldn't seem to recall where. Wobbling towards his compatriot, he leaned in 'till he was a hair's breadth away and narrowed his eyes at the brute. Sensing that the man was going to say something, and fearing that his concentration would be broken he stuck his finger in front of his lips. "Shhhush! Shush! Listen! Gimme(hic)-gimme a sec, I'm trying to think!"

At that moment, his legs got tangled up beneath him, and he lost his footing, sending him crashing down hard on his tailbone. The pain was excruciating, but also sobering, and it was then that he realized where he knew this man from. "I remember!" Darvek announced triumphantly, scrambling to his feet quickly, despite the pain in his rear end. "I remember where I've seen you from! You're Ean Stin...Ean Stemp...uhm...You're Ean! You're Pit-stop!"

[Mara]

His plan had been to just depart and leave the drunk Weequay to his drunken self after a sufficient moment of intimidation tactics, tactics hoping to dissuade the alien from any further action against Ean. But this being’s alcohol content apparently was messing with its intelligence centers, because the next thing that escaped the wrinkled blue lips of the Weequay was, to Ean, an insult of the highest degree. It had mentioned his mother. To be fair, though, the being was actually focusing his verbal assault on the Corellian himself and not defaming his mother at all. But for Ean, whose mother he couldn’t go back to because she had passed on over fifteen years ago, it was completely and utterly one of the worst things the Weequay could have mentioned.

The Corellian’s eyes twisted into an even deeper glare, his hands curling into tight fists. As he watched the alien stumble to his feet, a muscle twitched in his jaw at his barely contained ire. Any other being probably would have tackled the offending being while it was still prone and carried out punishment. But Ean had been practicing at trying to contain his temper. Plus, he wanted this to be fair, or as fair as it could be with someone such as himself against a drunken Weequay. He wanted to dare the Weequay to insult him or anyone related to him again. There was a lot of pent-up energy cursing through his body, some recent, some built-up from his earlier frustrations. Ean needed a release badly, but not until he had a viable excuse and after all his anger management exercises failed.

After the Weequay was upright, Ean noticed a flicker of something familiar in the alien’s eyes. It was the expression that beings got when they seemed to remember something or recognize someone. This irritation only served to further his anger. The last thing he needed now was some lunatic fan of his who had seen him all over the holonews, the one thing the Corellian was hoping to avoid being a part of ever again. Which was one reason he had been counting to ten, then a hundred, in his head before letting his fists fly. He did not want to end up the laughing stock of the ‘news, especially here on his home planet. And so he kept a hold on his body that was fairly almost trembling with his rage, trying to remain still, as the Weequay stumbled closer to him and shoved his alcoholic breathy face in front of his own, wanting a better look.

Ean remained silent as the Weequay blubbered out a command for him to stay quiet. Not because he was willing to obey anything this stupid, drunk creature said, but because he was too angry to say anything in reply. He was afraid that any words that came out of his mouth would be the first salvos of an all-out brawl with this alien. And as much as he really wanted to teach the Weequay a lesson, the Corellian also knew, in the small part of his brain that contained logic, it would not ultimately accomplish anything worthwhile. He would certainly feel better afterward, but the further consequences would do more harm than good. Though the corner appeared fairly deserted, Ean knew from experience that holocams could be lurking anywhere.

However, he found himself raising his right arm, his fingers still wrapped in a fist. Ean wasn’t sure at the moment whether he actually had been planning on punching the Weequay, but it ended up not mattering. At the same time, the alien fell over all on his own, obviously aided by his drunken state. The crash to the duracrete apparently had jostled the memory of the other being because he almost immediately gained his feet again and blurted out his thoughts. Ean’s arm still hung in the air, stalled by a little bit of surprise. Though the Weequay had squeezed part of his name out of his addled brain, the Corellian had no idea what this ‘Pit-stop’ meant. His eyes blinked, taken aback, and his arm fell back to his side, both his fists relaxing their grips. “What?” escaped his lips before he realized it. For the moment, his anger was trumped by this strange new turn of events, though it continued to boil within him.

[Agent of Greystone]

Darvek's attempts at identifying his companion had at first fallen flat when he couldn't seem to come up with the man's surname. But never fear, because falling on his butt got him out of his rutt, and now he was taking a stroll down memory lane, unclouded by the thick, warm fog of adult beverages. Suddenly it all came back to him in a rush, and before he knew it he was back up on his feet in a whirl, and accused the man with the nickname that belonged to him (the man). "You're Pit-stop!"

He had been almost completely sure this would garner a positive response, before he realized that it was very possible that the man had never heard the nickname that had been placed on his head. Pit-stop cocked an eyebrow at him and asked, "What?"

Darvek felt himself sobering up, and with this newfound sobriety he started to get that the thick pink trees growing out of the man's upper body weren't shaking because of the cold. "Man, what's got your undies in a knot?" Darvek asked cluelessly. "You should lighten up more." With that, Darvek reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small silver flask, along with an inactive holo-communicator. He took a swig from the flask, wrinkled his nose, and coughed. "Damn that's good, whatever it is." He screwed the lid back on and shoved it back into his pocket, then looked up at Pit-stop. "There you go, you look much better now." He said, patting him on the shoulder.

Remembering what they had just been talking about moments ago, he decided to clarify."Anyways, yeah you're Pit-stop." He announced bluntly. "Me and the boys back on N-(hic)-Nar Shadaa have been calling you that for a while now." As he talked, he began fiddling with the holo-device in his hands, pressing random buttons and flipping it around. "Well, technically you're only one of many Pit-stops, that's what we call bounty hunters who don't own a vehicle and get around with public transportation." The holo-device sprang to life suddenly in Darvek's hand, causing him to flinch and nearly drop it. A small, blue transparent man spoke in an alien language, but too low a volume to hear. "Though we call you Pit-stop because you're by far the most well-known of them." Darvek put the holo-device up to his ear, as he did this he spoke. "I'm Marco Mavros, of the Jedi Killers. Maybe you've heard of me." He said mistakenly. "Actually forget that you spoke to me after this, I don't want you fingering me if they get me." Suddenly the holo-device shorted out, and a few sparks popped out burning the side of his head. Darvek yelped and had to juggle it so that it didn't fall to the floor, then composed himself again. "So, anyways, what's guy like you doing in a place like this?"

[Mara]

Still a bit stunned by the man’s unfamiliar word of address and the confusion it caused him, Ean stood still in front of the Weequay. A slight stupor had come over him. His ears barely grasped the man’s remarks about his undergarments. Unsure of whether this ‘pit stop’ had been meant as a compliment or insult, he was prying his mind, looking for any confirmation that he had ever heard this name before. Hard as he looked, though, he couldn’t find anything that jogged any memories. If he were a betting man, though, he would place good money that the nickname was not a wholly positive one.

He was just coming to this realization, his anger coming back to the forefront, when the stupid Weequay touched his shoulder in way that was almost friendly. This caused Ean’s brown eyes to narrow back into a glare. Now all he wanted to do was ask why he dared say something like that, wait for an answer, and then punch the alien anyway, regardless of explanation. His patience was shortening every minute he spent in this Weequay’s presence, and he no longer had any illusions that he would be able to leave this random and very strange meeting unscathed. The counting and other amateurish anger management techniques were rendered useless. Just as long as the bluish alien got the worst end of things, it didn’t matter to him who found out. No being insulted his mother, the Corellian himself, pulled off these antics, and got away with it. If a recording of the confrontation somehow did end up getting out—though he hadn’t seen anyone else around the almost deserted corner—hadn’t take care of that in due time as well.

But before he could put any of these thoughts into action, his right arm again raising up, the Weequay launched into a brief discord about the nickname he had placed on Ean. So it wasn’t quite as big an insult as he had thought it could be, but he still didn’t take it as a compliment upon his person. He normally didn’t care what other bounty hunters thought of him, but it did make him uncomfortable to receive knowledge that they’d been calling him names behind his back for years. None of them had any right to judge him, especially if they also knew the results he got. Sometimes the anonymity of public transport had actually aided him in some captures. Of course, now he was in possession of his own ship, but wasn’t about to say so to the clumsy alien.

Ean didn’t move a muscle as the Weequay introduced himself. The name was vaguely familiar to him, but so were a lot of names. It didn’t mean they could suddenly be friends just because they may have an occupation in common. And the Corellian found it very hard to believe that the drunken alien—Mavros—stumbling all around him and fumbling with some sort of device had been able to kill a Jedi. And not only that, in such a way that he would be somehow infamous for it. Of course, there was also the chance that the man was boasting with exaggeration to improve his rep and street cred. Ean had run into plenty of beings like that as well.

And then this Mavros had the gall, after everything else, to try some inane chitchat with Ean. His anger was being matched now with complete amazement. The situation was getting stranger by the minute. He wasn't sure now whether to just brain the guy and get everything over with, actually pretend nothing had happened and converse with the Weequay, or just leave and forget the whole thing had ever happened.

In the end, the words just came out without any thought to them, passing by his logic sensors without a full scan. At the same time, the fingers on his raised right arm closed into a fist, and he leaned forward slightly. With his left, he knocked the device out of the Weequay's hands and made to crunch it under his booted foot. "I live here," he growled. It wasn't exactly true, not any more, but Ean wasn't exactly working on his full mental power--which wasn't much to begin with--most of his energy being shuttled towards his anger instead. "And it's Ean Stenner for now on, you drunken clumsy fool."

[Agent of Greystone]

It was obvious from his body language that the man he stood speaking to was seething with rage and at the same time baffled by Darvek's actions, which equally confused Darvek. What did he expect to happen when he began speaking to a slightly homicidal, anti-social, Weequay headhunter who was so hammered that he thought he was his own uncle? It was just common knowledge that it would be an infuriating and confusing conversation. Darvek unscrewed the cap from his canteen and took another gulp of the painful unknown liquid inside. As he did so, he stared down at the little holo-device, pressing random buttons with his large thumbs to no avail.

"I live here," Said Pit-Stop menacingly. "Mmm-hm." Darvek responded, paying little attention. Then the big man, reached across and swatted his holo-device to the ground. Then he took a large foot and stepped on it like some kind of insect. There was a crunching noise, and then he removed his foot, revealing broken shards of plastic sticking to a cracked, flickering screen, and sparking wires. The last message still played out, "To Darv---*Static*---rom Wayj---Hutt---bounty on several senators---Coruscant---children."

Darvek zoned out for a second, his brain piecing together what had happened. The kid said something, probably and insult. He looked down at the broken device in anger, looking up at Stenner or whatever his name was. Darvek looked down, snorted, and spat on the kid's boot that he had used to do the stomping. Taking a step back, he looked Pit-Stop up and down. He said that he lived on this boring planet. "Boring" was the key word here. Why come here? Was it to visit relatives? Likely, or maybe it's because he has no where else to go? Why would that be? Why would he come home only to stand at a corner aimlessly? Because he doesn't know what to do. Meaning he doesn't know what job he wants to do. Meaning he doesn't want to hunt bounties anymore. Well that's a shame. It's such a fun job. And trying to find a new line of work can be stressful. Wait! That's it! No wonder he's angry, he's under a lot of stress. Darvek thought back to when he was traveling with his uncle Marco, learning the tricks of the trade. His uncle had told him something very important.

"Now my boy, if you're ever feeling beat, like the whole galaxy is on your shoulders, pressin you down. Look to the guy next to you, and-" Darvek Straightened up, shaking away the effects of the alcohol that was clouding his mind. He set down the suitcase that housed his Rifle. This is for your own good Pit-Stop, as well as my Machine.

Then he cracked Ean Stenner right in his lousy, Correlian mouth.

"Do somethin 'bout it."

[Mara]

(((To hopefully keep from GMing… I left it open enough for you to decide whether Ean actually is successful with his attacks on Marco. If not, I can edit.)))


Maybe it was the alcohol that fairly radiated off the Weequay in front of him, but Ean was slightly surprised that he was able to get through the alien’s defenses. He had half-expected to be met with resistance when he moved after this Mavros’s holo device, slapping it away and smashing it beneath his heel. Giving him a reason to release some of his pent-up energy. That the being hadn’t realized what Ean had been doing until it was too late made him wonder about the bounty hunter’s earlier boasting about being a Jedi hunter and how experienced he actually was. Anything was possible, of course, but the Corellian found it hard to believe that the Weequay was capable of such actions and was leaning on the side of exaggeration.

Still, he wasn’t one to lower his guard, no matter what the situation. He had learned many years ago to always be prepared for anything. Even if this Mavros was stone-drunk, he could still be dangerous. Ean knew first-hand that alcohol could affect different beings differently. His coordination may be a bit slow, but the Weequay still had plenty of muscle behind him. Any host of reactions could sprout from the alien’s addled brain. And so he kept a vigilant eye on the being standing before him, his body a tense and coiled spring.

The Weequay—Mavros—was looking almost dumbfounded at the broken pieces of the device as Ean watched, but the momentary lapse didn’t last long. Anger began showing on the alien’s face, and Ean forced himself not to reveal a smile as Marco spit on his boot and then stepped back, glaring at him. Finally, the Corellian was having an effect, and his left fingers curled into a fist to match his right hand. His body was almost thrumming with the expectation of a good beat-down. Everything in the background disappeared, and Ean was left with only the Weequay in front of him, sucked in by tunnel vision and the lust of violence.

He could see behind the alien’s eyes that he had arrived at some kind of decision. The Weequay’s matching anger had sobered him for the moment, bringing a sharpness to his features that the alcohol had dulled. During the pause that had spread between them after Mavros’s spittle had flown, Ean had just waited patiently. It would have been easy to just start things off, but the small logical part of him wanted it to be the big alien that initiated the fight that was almost certainly coming. He had run his mind through the various possibilities of what the big blue being might do in response. The Corellian man had an answer for almost all of them, and now he was about to find out which the Weequay had chosen.

As Mavros moved toward him, Ean allowed a sneer to twist his mouth, keeping his hands in front of him, his knees bent and weight settled on the balls of his feet. Time seemed to slow as he watched the grayish blue fist heading towards him, the angle suggesting somewhere on his face. With a speed that belied his stature and honed through countless hours of martial arts training, Ean dodged the punch. Instead of ducking, he merely a couple steps to the left, tilting his head out of the way, and the Weequay’s attack would hit air.

Ean continued his movement, now allowing his body to drop so he could aim a leg sweep at the alien’s shin. Perhaps a bit too fancy a move for a spontaneous street fight, but Ean was working on pure instinct and learned techniques now, easily slipping back into his past at the bodyguard training facility. Without waiting to see if he had been successful in buckling the Weequay to the pavement, he sprang back to his own feet. He knew that the first attack almost never ended a battle, and so, with the assumption that Mavros hadn’t been knocked down, he put all his weight behind his next move, his right fist on a straight course to where he imagined the Weequay’s solar plexus to be.

[Agent of Greystone]

(Srry I'm late, Laptop trouble ;D, and I tried to do as you did and leave it open to interpretation)

When Darvek threw the first punch, he knew what he was getting into. He had read the dossier on Pit-Stop loads of times, mainly when him and his friends were making bets on how they thought other bounty hunters would fare in their assignments. He knew this man was an exceptional hand-to-hand fighter, while he himself was lacking in this department. So he didn’t expect to come out of this without his fair share of bruises. Still, Pit-Stop needed a fight, it was the best thing for him, and this made Darvek feel helpful. The hook he threw at the other man’s head was lazy, with not a lot of power put behind it. Sure if it connected it would probably mess up your perception for a minute, but it was slow, and if it had hit, Darvek would have been disappointed. The problem with this was that Darvek hadn’t planned out anything beyond that, so when Pit-Stop side-stepped him, dropped to his knees, and kicked Darvek’s feet out from under his own ass, it was really surprising.

Darvek hit the cement hard, knocking the wind out of him. At about this time, Darvek was going over all of the action vid fight scenes he had ever seen, and was wondering how those guys got up so fast after getting knocked on their collective asses. It was something he asked himself every time he ended up on the bottom half of the missionary position. Then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and watched as the big man sprung up from his kneeling position, and threw a hard right…directly at where Darvek would have been, had he actually stood up. As the attack flew harmlessly overhead, Darvek spun on his back so that he was lying directly under Pit-Stop, and sent a kick flying up towards the large human’s genitals. Then, using the momentum from the kick, he brought his knees up so that they were nearly touching his forehead, placed his hands behind his back, and pushed off of the ground, landing on his feet.

That looked awesome. He thought to himself. He looked over at Pit-Stop, who seemed to be enjoying this, maybe a little too much. “I think you may be seriously overestimating my unarmed fighting capabilities.” He said to the human, backing off out of arm’s reach. “I don’t get much practice doing this; I’m usually a mile away with gun bigger than myself when I kill a target.” He removed his pistol belt, along with his trench coat, setting them down next to his suitcase. While he was bent over, he opened an inside pocket in his coat and retrieved a small bag of powder, concealing it in his pants pocket. “But I guess that’s the fun of life,” He continued, dropping into a basic fighting pose. “trying out new things.

He hoped that the ill timed speech he gave kept the man looking at his face as he pocketed the item. He took a step forward, making a show of putting some weight behind his next attack. His next step brought him into close proximity with his opponent and threw a punch, but just as it was closing in, Darvek pulled it back and went into a defensive stance to attempt to counter any retaliation.

[Mara]

(((No worries… I’m a bit late myself…
And it’s fine. Fight posts take a bit of finesse. I admit they’re not my specialty. ;p)))


His fist slammed into a whole lot of nothing; the big Weequay was no longer in its path and instead was laying on the duracrete. He pushed down his surprise at having taken the alien off-guard with his weak counterattack. It wasn’t a move he used very often because it was usually easily anticipated, but apparently his opponent either wasn’t used to seeing it, was still inebriated enough not to focus that far ahead, or any host of other reasons that had let the leg sweep work. Either way, Ean hadn’t expected this tussle to favor him so quickly, had thought this Mavros would put up more of a fight. Still, though, he wasn’t prepared to take any chances. Anything could happen from second to second, the only surety in this street brawl.

As he brought his hand back, his mind always looking ahead to the next attack, the alien moved. Already taking a couple steps back and moving back into a defensive posture, he narrowly avoided the balls-crunching kick that the Weequay flung up at him by awkwardly hopping backward and swinging his pelvis out of the way. He quickly considered possible strikes at the other being while he was still lying prone, but Ean had to quickly shift into a new set of ideas. Mavros had made it back upright after a bit of contortion with his long and lanky body.

But instead of going right back on the attack, Ean’s new opponent decided to run his mouth, and he ratcheted back a bit. The Corellian was generally a quiet man and kept to himself when he was able to, only speaking when he had need to or when his anger provoked him. This situation was no different. He merely glared at the Weequay and waited for his next opportunity to land a hit on the big bluish gray being, trying to keep this fight at least resembling fair and forcing himself to remain still while the other was relatively defensiveless. Mavros’s words were just words, likely full of bluster; Ean would half-listen but not really spare any more attention on them. And if the alien did happen to not be exaggerating, all the better for him: a fair fight was preferable to just a straight beat-down.

Instead, Ean kept his focus more on the Weequay’s movements than on what he was saying. That was the important part. He considered and then discarded the thought of removing his own blaster and holster. The weapon wouldn’t get in his way, and plus, he was used to its familiar weight. It might put him off-balance to remove it. But as for his leather jacket, he used the brief respite—as the alien dug around in his own doffed coat—to shrug it off and lay it on the sidewalk behind him. Though it was now worn and soft, he would have more freedom of movement without it on. Also, it would hopefully continue to stay clean, as it had mostly avoided the earlier splashing of Mavros’s alcohol. When he turned back, he saw the other being stuffing something into his pants. The Corellian hadn’t caught what it was, but it was something to bear keep a memory of, just in case it was a weapon of some kind.

But then the fight continued, and he had more present things to worry about. Mavros stepped close, and Ean let him. He much preferred to hold his ground, to defend and attack that way, than to go on a more aggressive offense. A blue-gray fist came at Ean, and he reflexively ducked to the side. It was only then that he realized that the strike hadn’t been aimed to land, seeing the Weequay bring his hand back. Quite an interesting move and a bit puzzling for the big Corellian. But he kept his face hardened in its neutral battle concentration while his brain whirred, looking for a trick. The alien just stood there, though, almost like he was hoping to get hit.

So without another thought to the Weequay’s strategy or the mysterious item he had stashed away, Ean decided to give him what he wanted. He had confidence in himself to respond to any kind of attack that might get thrown at him. Keeping his right arm up to protect his chest, he feinted a left uppercut. Then as fast as his left hand came back, he switched, defending with that arm and throwing a right punch at his opponent’s shoulder. At the same time, one of his legs kicked quickly out, hoping to connect a boot with a kneecap. He regained his footing, prepared for the alien’s inevitable counterattack and thinking of his next moves to bring pain to the strange being.

[Agent of Greystone]

Ooh the fun he was having. Darvek nearly giggled as his opponent flinched away from the feigned strike. It had been so long since he'd had a nice man-to-man brawl with someone who wasn't heavily intoxicated. He looked forward to the experience. Darvek leapt backwards, leaving himself deliberately open to attack. The large human followed, throwing a left uppercut. But when Darvek motioned downwards to swat the attack away, he noticed too late that there was little force behind the swing, and that that was a feign as well. His eyes swerved up just in time to see the other man send two attacks his way almost simultaneously. In the split second Darvek had before being hit, he chose if he'd rather have a dislocated shoulder or a hyper-extended knee, neither of which were pleasant experiences.

The fist impacted on Darvek's shoulder with a painful thud, but he was able to pull his leg out of harm's way only just in time. But instead of trying to take the brunt of the impact like a wall, he instead allowed the force to push him to the side. At the same time, the Weequay wrapped his right hand around his opponent's wrist, pulled it down and forwards, adding his own weight and force to the momentum of the man's own punch, and attempted to smash the man's knuckles straight into the cement, and rid him of the use of those pesky little fingers in the process.

"Hmm nuts."

From there, the Weequay and his companion were both bent over in a slightly awkward position, and only a bit of careful maneuvering would keep him from curling his own arms and legs into a pretzel, and give his opponent the advantage due to bad planning. curled his arm into an angle, and swung a bony, muscled elbow straight at the large man's temple. Finally, placing his left foot on the human's chest, Darvek pushed harshly off of his sternum, attempting to either throw himself out of arm's reach, or send his opponent sprawling onto his back. He attempted these technical maneuvers in a single fluid motion, and it only took a short while to perform, but still, a bead of sweat formed on his brow, and his shoulder had begun to throb.

"Yeah! Didn't think I had that in me!"

[Mara]

(((I just noticed that for some reason I’ve been calling your guy Marco instead of Mavros (or Darvek). ;p Hopefully I’ve fixed all my previous errors, but let me know if you see any more.
Also, sorry for the delay in reply; I got to this later than I had planned on, due to personal issues…)))


Ean’s quick double attack only half-worked, which wasn’t much of a surprise to him. His leg came back underneath him without connecting a solid hit on the Weequay’s knee, but his right fist had done its job and well. In the Corellian’s eyes, perhaps a little too well. He had expected his opponent to be able to take the punch and absorb it and just hit back. They were both strong beings—though in the alien’s case he was only going on limited experience—and should be able to take a bit of abuse fairly easily. Instead, the other took the punch and moved with it, lessening its power on his big gray body.

But he hadn’t any more time to think about the strange reaction, because as he was retrieving his hand back to return to a defensive posture, the big Corellian was met with resistance. Mavros had grabbed him and was trying to use his own force against him by shoving his fist onward, past the Weequay and done into the hard surface of the sidewalk. Belatedly, Ean realized the thought behind the alien’s decision to let the punch slide by instead of landing more solidly. At first, it had seemed odd or perhaps a bit wimpy; now it made entire sense for his tricky opponent, short-lived a move as it might prove to be.

Though his right hand was immobile, Ean still had plenty of weapons at his disposal. The first matter of business was to get himself untangled from this messy shortsighted attack, not to inflict serious pain, before he could continue in earnest. As he lifted a knee to the alien’s groin, which he assumed was a sensitive area for the Weequay, he scrapped the move. With their current positioning of linked right arms angling Mavros’s body a bit sideways in front of him, the target wasn’t in an ideal location at the current moment. He’d probably be just as likely to slam into a hipbone than something softer and preferable.

Plus, his opponent was continuing the attack, and he would need his balance for his own counterattacks. Mavros, pivoting back around, loosed his left elbow at Ean’s head. With limited movement due to still being attached to the Weequay, he could only do his best to twist his head out the way of the organic weapon. The blow glanced off his cheekbone and missed the more damaging hit to his temple. Ean grunted; though deflected, it still hurt, and he knew he’d have a bruise there in the morning. A booted foot came up towards his chest, and the human took advantage of the momentarily unbalance of his opponent to finally try to free himself. He waited for it to connect and then wrapped his left arm around it and spun the ankle as hard as he could. If he was lucky, it would cause the alien to fall over or at the very least, to let go of his arm.


(((I hope I understood the positioning of limbs in this and when/where Darvek let go of Ean’s arm. If I got it wrong, or if my post doesn’t make sense, let me know, and I’ll edit. I should find some action figures and mime it out. ;p)))

[Agent of Greystone]

(No problems here! )

After the premature celebration Darvek had in his head after actually being able to land a hit on the brutish figure, he attempted to follow up his attack and get himself out of this awkward position he had put himself in. Alas, he was unexpectedly caught in the act, and was subject to his entire body being thrown to the side, starting with his foot. He swung a heavy, clumsy kick, semi-intentionally as his was rolled, at his opponent's head, in a drunken attempt to salvage the attack.

Though he could've stopped after the first spin, he curled his arms to his chest, and allowed himself to roll a few more feet out of harm's way, before making an attempt to stand. When he did eventually rise to his feet, albeit dizzily, he brushed himself off, rubbed his pained shoulder, and belched loudly. Feeling much better, he looked toward his enemy, who had resumed a fighting stance in the same spot.

Darvek was quite proud of himself. He, being no great hand-to-hand combatant, had managed a blow on the Great Ean "Pitstop" Stenner. Well, he was at least "Great", among Darvek's drinking buddies. He could already see a dark spot beginning to appear on his cheek bone. I've got to get him off of his game if I don't want to get my ass handed to me. Placing his hands in his pockets, he made a show of snorting and spitting on the sidewalk, while in his left pocket, he used his thumb and forefinger to tear open the bag, and catch the powder inside in his palm, concealing it in a balled-up fist.

Bringing his fists up again, one with the concealed weapon grasped firmly inside, he charged the distance between himself and Ean, swinging his fist forewards when he got colse enough. That's it, keep your eyes on the fist... Then, when his punch was about three inches from his head, he released, and threw the blinding powder straight at Ean's eyes. Not stopping to see if it worked, he swung a kick at his opponent's right knee, and after a pause, threw another kick up at his forehead.

[Mara]

(((Looks like you double-posted, instead of editing... You might want to delete your first one there.
Also, hopefully I'll use the right names from now on... ;p)))


Luckily for Ean and his arm and the whole awkward situation, the move worked, spilling the Weequay onto the pavement and detaching the two fighters. As he fell, the big alien threw out a leg in a last-ditch effort to land a strike on the Corellian, but Ean easily avoided it by just taking a couple steps back. He stood there a few moments, rubbing the feeling back into his formerly captured limb and checking out his face to make sure the cheekbone hadn't broken from contact with Mavros's elbow. Satisfied that all was well after his personal inventory and he had as yet only succumbed to future bruises at the worst, he turned his attention back to his opponent.

Seeing that Mavros had regained his feet also, he gathered himself for the next round that he knew had to be coming. Ean flexed his hands and slid his weight onto the balls of his feet, keeping his knees slightly bent. He wanted to be prepared for anything the Weequay came at him with. There was a very real knowledge of the possibility that at least one of them would have garnered more than just a few bumps before this affair was over. The Corellian wasn't the type to leave any unfinished business, and he felt sure that the Weequay was in exactly the same vein.

Not allowing himself to be distracted, he quickly disregarded the alien's cocky expression and silly posturing and spitting. Instead, he focused on his other movements as he dug around in his pockets momentarily. His brown eyes narrowed, suspecting a trick; he couldn't tell what exactly was inside, but it looked like the big guy's left hand hadn't come back empty. He made a mental note to keep an eye on that fist as things progressed. Ean hadn't gotten this far in life without being able to anticipate the unexpected and had dealt with his share of dirty fighting.

The Weequay charged at him then, and Ean just let him come. Sidestepping him wouldn't gain him anything but a couple of seconds, if that. So he just braced himself and prepared for the blows that were assumably coming, raising his arms to deflect and attack. At the same time, he warily kept track of the fist that he suspected the alien had done something to, perhaps hidden some kind of small weapon away within. That fist came at his face, and reflexively, he turned his head from the blow. And then suddenly remembrance came at him: white powder. He squeezed his eyes shut against the spray, hoping he had reacted in time.

However, he couldn't linger long; his opponent threw a couple more attacks at him. Blinking back against the few particles that had managed to squeak through, he turned his watery eyes back to the Weequay. Without enough time to completely avoid the knee-crushing blow from the alien's boot, all Ean could do was turn his leg and lift it so that the hit got him in a more fleshy area below his knee. When the leg came at him again, this time higher, he reached out with his hands and took ahold of the foot, pulling it up higher than perhaps was intended and struck out with a kick of his own, right at Mavros's genitals.

Afterwards, he let go and took a few steps back for a brief reprieve from the action, wiping at his eyes roughly with one hand. Though he avoided most of the airborne weapon, they were tearing up, and stung more from the rush of salt than from the actual powder. Knowing that even if he had managed to make the Weequay to double over or even collapse to the ground, that the alien would be soon back for more, Ean tried to get his clear sight back as quickly as he could. Fighting through blurry eyes wouldn't exactly hinder him, but it wouldn't be a great ally either.



(((If the powder was supposed to do more than just act like a version of pepper spray, let me know. ;p )))

[Agent of Greystone]

(Srry about that. And yes you got everything right.)

Darvek felt the bone of his leg connect with a slightly shifted area of the enemy's knee than he had anticipated, but it still must've hurt him pretty good. He then had a split second to decide whether or not to strike again at his disadvantaged opponent. Taking a step back, he swung his leg up in a slight feat of flexibility and attempted to (metaphorically) kick the human's head from his shoulders. What he hadn't expected was for his semi-blind opponent to not only block his attack, but to hold his leg and attempt a rather overpowering low-blow.

Time seemed to slow to a near halt as Darvek realized exactly which part of his body was being targeted. Woah woah woah that there's a fight ending maneuver! He thought in his adrenaline pumped state. I've got to get out of this somehow. He sent his arm flying downwards in an attempt to block the assault on his most-vital organs, but he was off course and in too awkward of a position to correctly fulfill the objective.

He felt a slight pain as the other man's fist struck his wrist and forced it aside. Luckily for Darvek though, the punch, while not blocked, was successfully deflected away from his genitalia. The bad news was, that it meant that the fist was sent directly into his inner-thigh, which was almost just as bad. The big man yelped and leapt back away from his opponent clutching the inside of his leg. Despite the pain, he giggled a little. He was nearly completely sober now, and the laughing, happy-go-lucky Darvek had since been replaced with a more skeptical, leering Greystone, who rarely laughed as he did now.

"Haha, good to know that under all of those elegant martial-arts there's still a real fighter." He said, his eyes still wincing at the awkward pain running through his tendons. There was a pause, and Greystone watched as the human began wiping tears from his eyes, maybe a result of some of the powder. Even if he isn't fully blind, this may just tip the battle in my favor. But then, something struck him and he straightened up out of his fighting stance.

"Why am I fighting you again?" He asked quizzically, scratching the back of his head. He remembered, however vaguely, a broken bottle of alcohol and his personal communicator being broken somehow, though that was probably because of the bottle and communicator both lying several feet away. A Police vehicle flew by overhead in, what Greystone guessed, was the direction of the spaceport. Nuts. By now they've most likely identified that this is my MO. I've wasted too much time here! He raced over and picked up his coat and his weapons, he put them all back on and picked up his briefcase, still keeping an eye on the other man. "Sorry to cut this short but...well...I sorta shot somebody."

Opening his wallet, he threw a credit chit the distance between them. "Thanks for the fight, it was fun, buy yourself a drink. Sorry about the eyes and all." He turned to leave, but stopped half a step away. He spun back to face the human again, pulling out his fairly large and illegal Mandilorian Ripper. "Pit-stop stay. There. 'Till I'm gone." He ordered, waving the Ripper as he did so. "Okay? Okay. Good luck on the bounty-hunting or whatever you do!" And re-holstering the weapon, he turned once again to limp away.

[Mara]

(((Sorry for getting to this so late, later than I had planned. But that’s life. I should be more prompt in the future.
Anyway, not sure if you were planning on wrapping this thread up or not, so…)))


As he knuckled his eyes in an attempt to clear them as quickly as possible to be ready for whatever came next, he peered through the teary haze at his opponent. Ean had felt his booted foot connect with something but was unsure if he had hit his intended target. Seeing a tall, standing, blurry figure in front of him, though, instead of a mass lying on the duracrete, the hit must not had incapacitated the Weequay for long, if at all. The Corellian worked at his face harder, trying to blink away the tears. He wasn’t afraid or even panicked about what the big alien might do next; he just wanted to be able to fight back with as much advantage as possible. His momentary decrease in vision was only an annoying hindrance, not a debilitating blow.

Mavros jabbed at him sarcastically with his words, but all Ean could do was glare in response. He generally didn’t speak during fights anyway, but this one just didn’t warrant any words. Instantly, he regretted even that small reaction. All it did was force more tears to come squeezing out and perhaps even dig the small amount of powdered weapon deeper inside. Prepared for his opponent to strike back while he was at such a disadvantage, Ean took a few more steps back to give him more room to react for whenever the Weequay came at him again. At the same time, he kept backhanding his cheeks, disposing of the wetness that was piling up there. It was an odd feeling, this uncontrollable crying where nothing emotional was responsible for bringing it on, and he didn’t like it.

But instead of coming at him again, the big alien just kept talking, muttering to himself about why the two of them were fighting in the first place. Ean could remember easily; the stupid drunk Weequay had bumped into him, spilling his drink all over him. They had exchanged words, and the whole thing had escalated farther than it had any right to. He hadn’t cared, through. The last few days had been excruciatingly boring for him. An opportunity to blow off some steam had been a welcome sight, no matter how shaky the reasoning behind it all had been. And now he was standing here, almost weeping, with some pent-up energy still remaining while his opponent was grabbing his gear and trying to make an early exit.

No matter how the fight had started between the two of them, Ean was not the type to leave things unfinished. For him, this wasn’t over. He violently swiped at his eyes again and started towards the Weequay, glad that his vision was finally slowly returning as the blinking motions were stopping the rush of salty water. Ignoring the cred chip that the alien had tossed on the ground, he stepped over it, only to be stopped short by the large being pulling a weapon on him. His eyes narrowed; he wasn’t afraid of being shot, but he wasn’t about to provoke the alien into doing so. Raising up his arms from his sides in a neutral posture, he let Mavros wave his big gun around and believe he was succeeding in threatening the Corellian.

Ean stood there, hands up, staring at the Weequay until he turned and began hobbling down the street. Counting, he waited a minute or two before his hand went to his own weapon holstered at his side. He got as far as pointing the barrel at the big alien’s back before he realized what he was doing. No matter how he was feeling, shooting someone in the back wasn’t the right way to go about it, even if he was only using the stun setting. No, he’d have to finish things another way. Blowing out a breath, he shoved his blaster back and stepped over to pick up his jacket, brushing it off before he put it back on.

Then, wiping a few last tears away, he gathered himself and barreled after his opponent at a dead run. Though not exactly fleet of foot, he hopefully had surprise on his side, as well as his mass. If the move was successful, he’d plow into Mavros’s back, slamming the Weequay face first into the duracrete and landing on top of him before rolling off to plan his next attack, depending on how the big alien reacted to Ean continuing the fight.

[Agent of Greystone]

(Well I was planning to fly him over to Coruscant for the Senator napping, but if that's still a ways away he could stand to get beat up a little more.)

It wasn't surprising for Marco, hearing the loud footstomps thundering after him. He almost expected it. Indeed, The Jedi Hunter wouldn't be a fan of a guy who gave up easily. But even Rancors will learn if you slap their paws enough. Hearing the large man gaining on him, Marco picked up speed, racing around the corner and stumbling a bit. He kept running until he came upon an alleyway to his right. Suddenly, he heard boots skidding on pavement, and realized the man was right behind him and charging.

Having intended to whirl around armed with his holdout guns, he flicked his wrist, trying to activated the harnesses on his forearm, and pop the holdout pistols from his sleeves into his hands, and he discovered to his dismay that he had put the harnesses on wrong. Having run out of options, Marco was forced to throw himself into the alleyway, before his was crushed under the weight of his attacker. He barreled in headfirst and landed in a pile of trash bins with a crash.

Though he was now lying upside-down on his shoulders, with his head between his knees, managed to whip his Ripper out again with relative quickness. It wouldn't be lying to say that Marco was bad at hand-to-hand combat, something which, in his profession, tended to bite him hard, but if that was true then the opposite could be said for him with guns. And with the knowledge that he had properly warned the large individual by waving a huge gun in his face, he was perfectly fine with putting out a few rounds.

He didn't want to badly injure Mr. Stop though, just dissuade him from continuing a pointless battle. There was a split-second where Marco almost felt a tinge of regret. Do I really want to shoot this man? Is it really right to injure him with a weapon, when he's only been using his fists like a man? Then he thought over his options. Yes. He took a quick peek down the sights, and that was all he needed. The gun roared four times, only barely spaced out enough to compensate for the kickback. Four white bolts of plasma erupted out the end in rapid succession, intent on grazing each of Ean's limbs, provided that he didn't move at the last second.

The tall Weequay rolled to his knees. The fourth shot was followed by the noise that signaled the power cell in his gun had died, so he re-holstered it, and waited for Ean to make the next move...

[Mara]

(((Well, time is pretty fluid on here… so… *shrugs* But we can start working towards an end anyway. Otherwise this could possible go on forever, haha, until they end up causing serious damage and/or killing each other… which I don’t think either of us wants…))


Ean hadn’t been wholly counting on the surprise attack to work, but still, he was somewhat disappointed when he noticed the Weequay picking up speed to get away from him. He had wanted to hear the satisfying crunch of the big ugly alien’s face against the pavement. Now there would be just a bit of an increased delay until he’d be able to accomplish that, no big deal. The large Corellian had no problem in waiting for his gratification, as long as he got some in the end. However, his patience wasn’t exactly infinite, either. There would be an end to this, if it was the last thing he did.

He kept racing after the tall alien, his breath starting to come to him a bit harder. His was not a body made for long-distance running, or sprinting, for that matter. When Mavros dove into an alley, Ean tried to slow down, knowing that the Weequay would try to set up a quick ambush before he got there. That’s what the Corellian would have done, anyway, in his place. But physics, along with just about every other subject in his schooling, had never been a strong point for him. At his mass and speed, he wasn’t able to just stop on a cred coin. Boots sliding on the duracrete, arms held out for balance, he ended up right in the mouth of the alley.

And looking right down the barrel of the weapon Mavros had pulled on him earlier. This time Ean wasn’t so nonchalant about the situation. Earlier he had been pretty certain that the alien was only using it for an empty threat in order to escape. Now, though, the man could see the look in the Weequay’s eyes through the dim light in the alley, as the large being lay there in a pile of rubbish. He had no time to think to himself about how fair this move was, considering they had been fighting unarmed up until then. The most important task in the forefront of his mind was just to react; the flight of his flight or fight response kicking in.

Gathering himself almost immediately after sighting the large gun, Ean dove to the pavement, away from the entrance of the alley, barely hearing the discharge of the weapon at the edge of his awareness. His self-preservation was in full swing. He landed on his side with a thud and a grunt. Quickly, without bothering to survey any possible damage, he rolled onto his back, pulling his own blaster out at the same time. Switching its setting from stun to kill, he focused it on the entrance to the alley, waiting for the inevitable. If the Weequay was willing to change the rules, so was he.

Then and only then did he allow himself a physical inventory of his body. Besides the obvious bruises and sores, he realized his right leg was stinging just below the knee. Ean didn’t need to look at the charred patch on his trousers to realize that the alien had landed a hit. He recognized the telltale odor of a blaster burn. It was something that he usually found on his targets and bounties, but he had also had his fair share of wounds over the years. It didn’t feel serious, but even if it was, it wouldn’t matter. The Corellian could work through the pain, had done so before, and would do so now, his hand steady as he lay there, barrel pointed towards the darkness of the alleyway.