Masks Made to Hide the Glow

[Kveer]

Nar Shaddaa, a metropolitan wasteland of flashing, multicoloured advertisement boards and sprawling, sky-scraping structures, was yet another name of a large galactic chart of planet after planet. Nar Shaddaa had been for Zy and she remembered it well. She had been like an insect, scuttering around its underbelly, thriving where it could beneath the climate of underworld politics by larger people, names to watch out for. The sights, the sounds, thawed memories that she had buried away with years, distance, and the belief now that she was far above what she once was and those that remained there. 

In a way, she blended into the hubbub of city, she had her sense of direction and moved with a degree of confidence but also there was something about her. She had the gait of someone who firmly held that they were superior to every spicerunner, counterfeiter, holo faker, and charlatan that infested the shadows of civilisation. Thirteen marched, head tall, in her cloak and black gown, along the Promenade district and arrived at a casino, a public meeting point for SyntaxT3RR0R – the holonet alias that had answered her posting under Krypttic: slicer needed for ‘special job’. 

She was Co Jysall, simple arms dealer in need of assistance against a competitor, a simple story but far from the truth.

Thirteen relaxed back, intent to meld into the swarm of gamblers, reclining drinkers, and dancers, and became one of the women in the lounge area. She had arrived earlier than the time she had provided, specifically so SyntaxT3RR0R would approach her and she had given the instruction to ‘look for a brunette in violet’, but she was neither in violet nor in brown. It was a test. A rather arrogant thing for her to do but she needed to know if SyntaxT3RR0R was ‘right’ for the true task she had in mind.  

[Moonfire]

The casino was none other than the Blind Eye, an audacious but higher class establishment for the truly distinguished criminal. A place where one could easily relax, have a few stiff drinks and spend some credits without having to get your hands too dirty. Maybe even meet fellow criminals for a pleasant drink before going over any pre-highly illegal mission plans. And, entirely underdressed for such a place, was one Qiki Muir.

“C’mon, ya ugly fuck.” We find her now sitting at a pazaak table clad in an oversized hoodie cropped short above her bust to expose the sheer bodysuit beneath, a curling pair of dragons preserving what was left of the petite woman’s modesty. A hand tossed a frizzy dreadlock from her face, hazel eyes challenging the Rodian across from her over the rim of her cards.

Wham!Drinks rattled across the table nearly spilling as the other card players, long out of the game, watched the sneering woman with amused interest. Mirth, devious and plain worked its way across her face as Qiki shifted in her seat, half-leaning across the playing surface as she goaded her remaining opponent. “Do it. Do it. Do it, nerd. Call me on it. Tell me I’m bluffing. Do it. Do it, you coward.”

”Jee cha bkoha biw haku uba doth sey. Peae se tee-tocky woy Jee gee bai toupee uba, Jee cha cohai Doyoee.” The Rodian replied, his brow furrowing over multifaceted eyes as Qiki’s shows for him to ‘Do it.’ grew louder and more jovial, a frantic and confusing chant.

“Doitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoityoufuckingloserbetyoucan’tdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoitdoit.” She hissed out of closed teeth, only mildly making a scene before the Rodian slammed his fist on the table, throwing the cards on the table with a shout of his own.

”Jee tee blee haku uba doth dopo bai sey uba koushonbake kantkha!” He cried grabbing his drink, curly straw and all, and his things before taking a final look at the young woman, poised and ready to continue her chant. A glob on spittle splashed across the cards, hands lifting up in defeat as he marched away shouting. “Dobra meeto toe yoieu bu babcenetky! uba tee dotke dooo jiu bu jiu saptkhe!”

“Yeah!” Qiki called behind him in a cackle of dark husky laughter. “That’s right! You fuckin’ loser! I beat you! Fair and square, I got all the diamonds--” She turned quickly to consult the waiter beside her as she placed her empty martini glass on his tray. “That’s how this game works, right? I wasn’t really paying attention. Gimme another one, and don’t skimp out on the little umbrellas. I want like, uh, ten maybe? Yeah. Gimme ten little umbrellas, my guy.”

Jumping up from her seat in a clatter of platform boots the telltale chime of a commlink alarm buzzed and jived over the electronic cries of slot machines. Clicking her tongue the crust punk scrounged the little piece from her cargo pants pocket. Quick hands tapped across the surface, pausing to read for only a second before eyes flicked to scan the crowd.

Not a bit of violet or brown, nope. Unsurprising. Lame.

Rolling her eyes the woman tapped across the screen, eyes skimming the crowd with a grimace between lines of code. With a final flourish of her pointer finger she stopped, pulling the comm up to her ear, grinning as she turned in place a few paces.

And at that moment, Zylla’s comm, silenced or not would give a sharp loud beat. Three to be exact, enough to attract the ex-eSports player’s attention. Striding over, comm still to her ear, Qiki gestured from Zylla to answer hers. “Hey, bitch, heyyyy. You colorblind or somethin’, ‘cuz I’m not really ready to explain what the fuck violet means, but if you need me to talk real slow to explain shit to you tonight I’ll try my best.”