Mistaken Identity

[Corto]

You know that your life has gone awry when you’re employed to do a small, two-bit job way outside your normal scope of interest. Daavo’s last bounty hunting business ended up in Farlhu, the capital city of Farrfin. One might think a bounty hunter was used to all sorts of filthy places, but Daavo didn’t like Farrfin at all. It was a dirty, dangerous place full of gambling sites, illegal operations, smuggling outfits, rival syndicates. And those attracted all sorts of scum of the galaxy. He didn’t have a problem with dirt, danger, even with the scum. It was the indigenous species, Farghul, that he despised. While their ferocious fighting skills may had been a redeeming aspect, their obsession with lavishness, mockery and thieving ways made them nothing short of insufferable.

Why didn’t he leave Farrfin then? The answer was quite simple: work, or lack thereof. Turahl, his last payer, was an owner of a casino in the capital city. It was a prerequisite for his profession, especially among his species, to be greedy, miserly and sly. Turahl used a mere technicality to cut Daavo’s payment in half. Something about rumors surrounding the demise of the target. It really wasn’t Daavo’s fault someone worked the numbers and came up with Turahl’s name behind the killing. Nonetheless, he had to satisfy himself with half the credits and no immediate prospects of a job. His enquiries with Goa-Ato and a couple other sources came up dry. One of the “friends” suggested he stayed on Farrfin – someone on the planet’s underground network was bound to develop a need for his skills. After two weeks of waiting, Daavo was close to thinking that this person wasn’t a friend at all. And he wasn’t partial to the idea of working for another Farghul cheat again.

He considered leaving the planet each day, but he didn’t have anywhere to go, not to mention credits were drying up. So, when Turahl’s men approached him about a job again, he accepted. The task looked fairly simple: find and beat the crap out of a Zabrak con and rip-off. Apparently the individual gained some notoriety as a cheater in Farlhu, so he had relocated to Geltyu. Before he did though, he made his last game at Turahl’s setup and left with some considerable winnings. As far as Turahl was concerned, the money was chiselled from him, and he wanted the crook to learn a lesson. It wasn’t a glorious job, not much of a hunt even, since Daavo got a name of the Zabrak’s known hang-out in Geltyu. He was only supposed to harm the target, not to kill him. The word that spread out would be enough to secure his payment: thirty thousand credits plus anything he could squeeze off the Zabrak, if some of the winnings were still in his pockets. Not too much, but something to keep him going. The affair was straightforward, too straightforward maybe, but Daavo never was the type to ask many questions. He departed for Geltyu immediately.

After a short and uneventful planetary flight, he landed inside another of Farrfin’s polluted metropolises. He made an instant trip to Zabrak’s hang-out, a bar named simply Resting Place. One look at the short, dilapidated duracrete construction in the suburbia convinced him one could get anything here but rest. Inside was the den of the den’s, crowded, polluted with smoke and odours, and patrons from all walks of life, given the life was shady. The tables were actually cargo crates wielded to the floor, and wiry chairs looked like they were gonna fall apart under their occupants. The only decoration was a fused out jukebox, an old model unable to carry out straight tune anymore. A cheap place, somewhere a man with enemies and price on his head would hide. Everybody here was sporting some kind of a weapon, a measure of trust one had for his neighbours. Daavo shrugged off the simple stares he got from the regulars, if this place had any, and strode straight towards the bar. The keep, surprisingly, was a Quarren, and probably the owner of this junk. As much as he was sure the stew here was a two weeks old fertilizer and drinks were diluted engine oil, Daavo produced few credits from his pocket and ordered something. Having sort of established himself as a customer, the Rodian turned his gaze on the surroundings, looking for a Zabrak that fit a description he was given.

[The Seal]

Ah, Resting Place. There was a certain charm over this down to luck bar. Maybe it was the thought that not everyone is living a happy life, or maybe it is just because someone does not have enough credits to go to somewhere more prestigious, that this rat hole. Farrfin. Now, to find this place you really must had a valid reason. So much criminal on one place was almost a crime on it's own.Even though, Kalados had a reason to relax there. After breaking from the disappointment he lived trough on Iridonia, he needed a place to calm down. Besides, a bounty hunter is nothing without a bounty. he was hopping to find someone who could have a task for the young and quite new to the job Zarbak. His wallet was running dry, and food isn't paying itself, after all.

So, Kalados was sitting at a lone table, in a more distant location in the bar, and was facing back to everyone other in the place. His dark brown cloth robe hung over his shoulder, and his left hand wasn't seen, as it was hidden inside the loose sleeve.What was seen though, was a chain that traveled out of the sleeve, and was linked to a suitcase, leaned on his legs. Surprisingly, he wasn't wearing his hood, so his bald head, with signs of burns here and there, was seen. in addition, he was displaying his racial uniqueness, as his head was covered with several horns. Two at every side of his forehead, and three at every side around his head, causing him to look like he is wearing a crown.Two crimson red eyes, were focused on a paper in front of him, and it looked like he was looking at a blank piece of paper. Who knows what went trough the Zarbak's head at that moment, but one thing is for sure. It wasn't fate's will that the paper remains empty for long, then the Zarbak started to write something on it, with his right hand. His movements were slow, and rough.

Thinking, about what to do to make a change in his life, and finally earn some credits, led him to the point, that he started to ignore everything around him. Even though, in that state, his mind quickly lost the said focus, and Kalados had to let his thoughts run around free. While there, the hand was scribing words together on the paper, which looked like they would form a short ..poem? Yes, it looked like Kalados' worries awoken a poet inside of him.

Even though, Kalados sighed after a while, shredding the paper sheet is small pieces, and in a swift motion , placing the shredded piece of writing in one of his many pockets. He would shift his weight on his feet, and standing up, turning on his heels to face the Bar. Quickly enough, he would also remember that his head was still exposed, as he would pull his hood over his head, and as the piece of cloth had roughly slide over his horned head, Kalados would let out yet another sigh. With his head now covered, Kalados would made his way across the Bar , not looking at anyone, but keeping his head hung low. His movements were slow, and rough, as his writing, but yet elegant enough so that his presence wasn't an eyesore.

He slowly walked outside, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening. Closing again so his eyes could get used to the brighter light. Soon enough, he would turn to the right, and making long, symmetrical steps across the path. Spotting other on his path, Kalados tried to ignore most of them, even though he was able to hear whispers about dealing and money coming from all over the place.

[Corto]

Daavo tested the murky liquid in his glass with the tip of his snout and immediately regretted that. Whatever there was, tasted like a droid lube mixed with an anticorrosive. He forced himself too swallow it against better judgment of the senses. Those actually drinking it must have been tasteless, already drunk or harboring a death wish. His snout was still wriggling up and down trying to forget the repulsive sensation when he saw who he was looking for. A Zabrak, standing up from the table. He noticed a bald had and crown of horns just before the man covered them with a hood. They were just as supposed to be. As far as he could see, and there wasn’t much that escaped his big, reptilian eyes, he was the only Iridonian in the establishment, if the locale deserved such name.

His luck was on the rise, but the bounty hunter didn’t wish to push it. The Zabrak was leaving, perhaps it was good. A bar, although public as Turahl had wished, was an easy enough space to pick up a major brawl. If Daavo was in his target’s shoes, he’d drag as many men into the fight as possible, with hope of making his pursuer’s job harder, and possibly dashing out safely in guise of the commotion. Provided that he was a cowardly Zabrak crook. Being himself, he’d stand ground to any challenge and keep fingers crossed for the best outcome.

Better not to take any chances. He allowed the man in a robe to go out. A fight in the middle of a street was still better than punches in the middle of a cantina crowded with individuals ready to kill their own mother over a spilled brandy. Sure, there was the risk of a police intervention, but on crime-ridden Farrfin such event was extremely unlikely. And lawmen were always incredibly slow. By the time they’d arrive, Daavo would be long done and gone.

He put down the glass of foul liquid on top of the bar and followed his target quickly. Once outside, he noticed the Zabrak striding through a path on the right hand from the bar. He was carrying a suitcase. With luck it contained the stolen money. Even more reason to tackle the situation outside. At least one patron of the Resting Place would quickly sniff out that the thing contained something available. Daavo didn’t want any unnecessary problems. The work was supposed to go quick and smooth. No reason to antagonize the locals. Such things had a bad habit of staying around and polluting the air, and next time Daavo had business in Geltyu, the past could blow up in his face. Anyway, Resting Place was behind him. No reason to think about its bad stench anymore.

With long and quick steps, the Rodian started in the Zabrak's steps. Soon he was jogging lightly, to keep up and gain on the man. Normally, he’d be able to tail him, even on the most busy of streets. Years of training and practice made him an expert tracker. And he had already picked up the Zabrak’s distinguishing smell. But he had no reason to drag this any further. There was no challenge, no thrill. This thing was disappointingly bland, unchallenging. The quicker it was done, the better for the Rodian’s mind. The assignment reminded him painfully of his own bad situation and the reasons he took up this unsatisfying job. He didn’t want such thoughts. Instead, he focused on delivering his contract there and then.

Without taking out his blaster, or the deadly sword, Daavo approached his newest victim. He could take him without arms. His entire body on itself was a sufficient and effective weapon. The Zabrak deserved no plasma discharge. Certainly he wouldn’t have the honor of close meeting with Headslasher, Daavo’s trusty blade. He wasn’t even worthy of being called prey. There were no emotions in the bounty hunter but disgust and disappointment. His skills were being misused. Before dealing the first blow, he already sensed this wouldn’t even be an exercise. It rather resembled taking a fish stick from a child, he recalled a Rodian saying.

”Hey, Zabrak shcum!” he shouted at barely few meters behind. He wanted to have the thief’s attention, make him turn around. Dealing a kick or a punch into somebody’s back was never his thing. Plus, front of the body, any humanoid body, carried many more sensitive spots. Daavo wanted to disable his opponent, make escape impossible, then deal a lot of pain on him. As he was killing the last of the distance, he made sure there were plenty of eyes watching the ensuing blood fight. There would be more by the time he had finished. On places like Farrfin, any brush was sure to attract crowds. Unlike in the quiet, safe places, local people were always hungry of violent spectacle. ”Turahl at Blue Mysht shendsh regardsh!” As the last words were spoken, Daavo’s right arm folded and his elbow flew at astonishing speed towards the Zabrak’s nose, aiming to break it. The pain, shock and blood splatter were supposed to stop the Iridonian for several seconds in the least. It didn’t matter if the elbow hit or missed, Daavo’s immediate second was a knee kick in the gut, another disabling move. He brought the combat to close quarters, so that the Zabrak couldn’t reach for any arms concealed behind the robe. His eyes were pinned to the man’s hands, trying to predict their moves.

[The Seal]

Maybe, it was simply out of the scene, or maybe, just plain boredom. Maybe, on the other hand, it had a deeper meaning. But, the Zarbak's lips, curved, and he made a slight, barely visible, but, still there smile. He remembered something like this scenario before, back, on Iridonia, while he was still a kid. No one who cared about him was around. He had nothing to even care for himself. But he smiled. Independence. Is that what they call that? Being able to survive, yet, having nothing but your own self. Yet, he was happy. His childhood memories randomly flashed in front of his eyes. Who knows, maybe it was the heat, that made him dizzy. Or it was the disgusting smell of drugs who roughly poked in his nose. Whatever it was, now it was too late.

His shoes hitting on the rough sandy ground, over and over again, as he advanced further on his unknown path. With each step, a bit of dust remained on his footwear, but most of it let a slight sandy cloud in the air for a moment, before it had also, fell on the ground, and it was like none ever stepped on it. This small detail, hit Kalados' mind, as he stopped thinking about his past. He questioned himself, had his parents forgotten about him? After all, it was many years since they had last met. Or , will his schoolmates remember him. They did played together, for more than half of the day, each single day. No. They probably wont. the Zarbak replied on his inner thoughts. Who was he kidding anyways. No one even noted him passing by on the streets. Then again, why would they? Not that they cared about him. But that was the whole point of it. No one cared.

As he was walking, his almost 10 inches long knife, rested freely on his belt. Some of the recently polished metal, was looking out of the holder, and, if one looked close enough, they could had seen the blade shinning due to the sun light. It was almost a masterpiece. Worth more than he was carrying with him. His right hand, slid to the hilt of the said weapon. Trailing circles over it with his index finger, continuing to walk. Now, his right hand was grabbing the hilt so many times, and, to be frank, it was the only friend the young Zarbak could rely too. His smile would then disappear from his face, and would be replaced by an emotionless straight line his lips made. Even his previous thought vanished in the void of his inner mind.

Luck wasn't on his hide, that was for sure. Why was he able to spot so many dark alleys, just calling for a dark deal to earn something. But, as someone would curse him, every little place was empty. Was the planet really changing into a better place? What was the meaning of this, he did not know. Who knows though, maybe they were on a lunch break. Bah. He had no time to think about that anyways. He was going to find a job, and if it would be the last thing he was going to do. Thinking, if maybe he should simply walk into a cantina again and hope for the best, when something disturbed his daydreaming.

"Hey, Zabrak shcum!” He could hear coming from behind. The voice actually sounded quite funny, but was closing in quite fast. Being called a name, on this planet, never meant anything good. So his right hand shoot down to grab a hold of his dagger, and pulling it out of the holder.He turned around, with his weapon out for everyone to see. His heels turned for around ninety degrees, so he was facing his waist towards the yelling person, and his head turned towards the advancing male. He stopped, and spoke. "Wha-" And that was quite the only thing he was able to release from him.

He seen the Rodian, just a few inches away from him. He was saying something more, about regards, or something. But Kalados couldn't quite understand anything, due to the fact that he was assaulted, on the middle of the street, without any reason. "Who - ?" Was again, the only sound he was able to produce, before he seen the attackers move. The Rodian's elbow was flying his way, with admirable speed, in a one way ticket towards his face. His eyes opened wide, as he tried to duck , but too late. The other humanoid's elbow slammed at Kalados' nose, and with a mixture of being confused, shock, and anger, he was sent flying across the sky, and landing with a loud THUD two feet away from his previous location, lying on the ground.

He was disarmed, as his only source of protection was around five feet away from his right hand, and his fingers were hopelessly grabbing the sand around themselves, hoping to grab a hold of the cold blade, or, even better, the handle. But, he couldn't. It was to far away, so, even though he would leap aside, it wasn't possible. His nose, strangely, withstood the force of the impact, and didn't break, but, unlucky for the Zarbak, blood started to escape his nose, and with falling on the ground, some of the red liquid was already on his robe. He was in pain, but not emotional, physical. His crimson red eyes, darted over his attacker, only for a brief moment, and Kalados was able to see, that his attacker was a Rodian. An quite older and more experienced one for that matter.

But, that wasn't the only thing he was suppose to be worrying about. The Rodian's leg was on it's way to deliver another nasty hit, and if that hit, he wouldn't be able to do anything, and the end would be there quite sooner that expected. Even though every single muscle of his body was against it, the Zarbak forced himself to roll to the right, barely avoiding the kick. But, what now. He was only seconds away until the Rodian would decide to attack again.

While rolling, he had also spot his weapon, and, instinctively, he reached forward, trying to grab the long bladed dagger, and , he tried to , with some light acrobatics , to successfully create a lying back-flip, so he would roll over his shoulder, and land on his feet, in a crouching motion. With his knife in hand, trying to brace for impact. But even though, the suitcase, which was chained to his left hand, had other ideas, and, after he landed , due to gravity, the suitcase had almost made him lose his balance. But, he held his ground, barely. Breathing heavily.

[Corto]

The elbow move exceeded Daavo’s wilded expectations. Not only he managed to hit the Zabrak exactly in the bridge of his nose, he also sent the man flying off his feet. The corresponding landing on the cold ground looked uncoordinated and hard. Better still, he saw a knife dropping from the Zabrak’s hand and landing in the sand several meters from its owner. He had manage to surprise, hurt, off-balance and disarm his target in one swift motion. The following gut kick was entirely unnecessary. But Daavo wasn’t happy. It was obvious to him from the very start it was a hopelessly uneven match. Money was money though. He’d do his thing without attaching any emotion to his victim. All his resentment was tunnelled toward Turahl in the Zabrak’s stead. His employer was at fault, not this heap of useless meat and bones. It had less appeal to Daavo than a punching bag. Where was the joy of tracking the prey, locating it after weeks, months of pursuit, engaging it in a fight that made blood boil from excitement? Here was no honor, no glory.

The Rodian walked up to his lying opponent. Without a word he lifted his foot in an effort to stomp hardly on the man’s stomach. He could see the Zabrak was in pain, hardly in any position to hold him back. So he rose a brow in mild surprise, seeing the thief roll away from his boot’s reach, clumsily, barely. His antennae twitched in response to the back-flip the man made to get back to straight and grab his lying weapon again. Determined, he had to say. Still, carrying a large suitcase was an error, as it had slammed back hard on the Zabrak’s body, nearly toppling him over. That was why Daavo travelled light. In his line of work lightness and flexibility were a must. He couldn’t allow useless objects to restrain him in a fight.

”You should’ve known running from Farlhu won’t do you good,” he spoke, amazingly without any lisp, but still his basic sounded awkward. Not that he noticed, or cared. People seemed to understand him well enough, his fists better than words. ”Shtealing from Turahl wash a mishtake you’ll pay for,” again he mentioned the name of his contractor for use of the small crowd gathering over to see. He never liked speaking much. Words detracted focus. Silence was the way of a warrior, it filled him and prepared his senses for immediate action and reaction. The contraction of muscles, the ideal balancing of the body, the observation of the enemy – lack of concentration in these areas brought one’s defeat frequently. He’d learnt that over a decade ago in the jungle on Rodia.

Using his amazing speed again, he leapt in the direction of the Zabrak, but instead of dealing blows, he caught the suitcase that was tied to the man’s wrist. It was his biggest weakness, that big, heavy thing. Daavo was going to exploit it effectively. Holding a firm grasp over the bag, he pulled it sharply to himself. The chain clanked and straightened, dragging the Zabrak’s wrist and, hopefully, his entire body. The idea was to spread the opponent on the ground again, this time on his belly. His movements, and more importantly vision, would be drastically limited, allowing Daavo to deal nasty kicks in the exposed parts of his physique. Not a very dignified way, but let’s face the truth, this job wasn’t dignified at all.

[The Seal]

What was the meaning of this anyways. Not only it was the middle of the streets, even worse, it was a bright sunny day. And he was being used as a useless bag of rotten food. What was this Rodian thinking. Okay, maybe he was some sort of thug , or a mugger, because, if that was the case, it should be no surprise attacking a weaker opponent. But, why was he mentioning random names? Stealing? He might not be a saint, but he never had stolen anything. Maybe it was just an excuse to hit on the Zarbak, though. Kalados didn't knew for sure. All he did know, is that he should get out of this mess as soon as possible. He knew that his opponent had the upper hand, and was extremely fast, so, he had to think about more wickedly. Don't play fair, if your opponent isn't playing fair as well. And, Kalados discovered, that if this Rodian uses foul tricks to get him of-guard, and ranodmly attacks him, he shouldn't play by the rules as well.

He felt adrenalin pumping inside of his body, and every movement slowed down for just a moment. He had regained his balance, even though the suitcase almost made an end to him. He had already tighten the grip around the hilt of his weapon, feeling a lot more safer, now that he isn't completely off guard. But, even though, big problems were still at twelve o'clock, dead close range. Kalados was still crouching , but he had no idea if that was a good, or a bad thing. Was that his advantage, then he was harder to hit, but, they weren't shooting each other. They were pummeling each other other mercilessly. Well, at least the Rodian was, the Zarbak was merely the object of fun. Still, he figured out that he was an easier target for a melee fight. He would try and stand up, but, as he knew his luck, the Rodian was already charging at him. He had no time to stand up and still pull up his guard. All he had to do is lift his dagger and try to stab him when he gets closer to him.

But, surprisingly, the attacker wasn't aiming for another direct hit, as he went for the suitcase. Kalados quickly understood what big of mistake he did, and practically, let the Rodian to play with him a little more. Keep a cool head echoed in his mind, as he tried to go with a plan to protect himself. And, in just mere milliseconds, Kalados remembered something, that might be just what he was hopping for.

The fingers on the left hand started to fumble on the chain, where it was linked. Luckily, the chain , if one had practice, could go down with some mere finger motions. But, even though training, Kalados was almost panicking, and far from having his head cool. So, as his fingers searched for the right combination under his sleeve, he felt his wrist being tugged on by the Rodian. He forgot to keep track of his enemy, and he was already one step in front of him. Metaphorically speaking, as well as psychically. But then, the chain had loosen , and, with that surprise move, the Zarbak hoped to send the Rodian flying to the ground, then he was using the Rodian's own force and the gravity against him. And, as his hand flew free, Kalados used it to place it on the ground, as a wide open palm facing it, and trying to come to his senses. He shifted his weight on that very hand, and then leaped forward, to the Rodian, who should had be just a bit distorted, to say the least. Or so he was hopping.

The blood from his nose was now all over his mouth, and he could easily been mistaken for a cannibal, if it wasn't for the scene around him. Yes, Kalados could had ran away, but he didn't. He hopped to get some answers first. So, as he was charging, with his knife in front of him , the Zarbak hopped to stab or just scratch his attacker, before he would run pass him, and turning on his heels to face him again.

"What? From who did I run away?" He said with a bloody mouth. Salt, and still warm. He just hopped he hadn't any serious injuries. " From who did I steal? What are you talking about?" Kalados had so many questions, but he controlled himself. He didn't even know if he was telling the truth, or if he just didn't want to answer in the first place. The Zarbak hissed, and readied his knife for any next attack, hopping it will not result like the last one. He still felt quite some pain all over his body, and specially the nose section.

[Corto]

Suddenly Daavo realized his mistake, but it was too late. Somehow the Zabrak released the chain from his wrist and the bounty hunter ended up down on his ass, legs stretched out on the sand, the suitcase resting on his lap. He didn’t expect it. He didn’t expect it at all. If the bag contained valuables, he figured, the carrier would like to hold to it. It didn’t make much sense apart from being effective in the given situation. Daavo was surprised. Perhaps he underestimated the Zabrak, brooded too much. Not that the man was much of a fighter, and this new development was but a small inconvenience. But he had at least some elementary cunning, a factor not to be overlooked. This fight might take a little longer than the Rodian first thought.

The crook knew how to hold a knife, that much Daavo could say about him. Certainly he was aware which side was the sharp one. His moves were pathetically slow, though. That half-witted charge was an error and a show of inexperience. Daavo did the most obvious and easy thing – ha parried the stab with the suitcase. He could have done it forcefully and hopefully knock the Zabrak off balance. But it may have been some sort of a ruse, so he played it carefully, allowing the blade to slide through his makeshift shield, and let the Zabrak run past him. There was just enough time to stand up, turn around and assume position for taking another blow.

But the attack didn’t come. In its stead came words. Without losing focus, he listened to his opponent’s questions. Oh he was a good one, pretending he didn’t know what this was about. Did he really think Daavo would take such a childish bait? No, he wasn’t born yesterday and he was not willing to believe any word which came from this cheat’s blood stained mouth. The Zabrak would get to know it. ”Looshe the play, horn. You know what I’m talking about. You cheated Turahl off shome creditsh.” He dropped the suitcase to the ground. Money or not, it was weighing him down. He could strip the knife from the Iridonian without its dubious help. ”I’m here to break shome bonesh. No hard feelingsh. It’sh jusht bushineshhh. Gotta show you can’t shteal from the Blue Mysht and leave without painful conshequenshesh.”

He gradually stepped closer as he talked, again for the use of the spectators. Daavo wasn’t going to run into a blade-wielding man. There was always a stray chance of getting stabbed, however small in this instance. Instead, he put himself in the Zabrak’s range, ready to deflect blows and mount up an offensive from there. If the enemy had no will to attack, he’d just take the initiative again and take care of the knife first. Breaking an arm in the process sounded lke a good idea. He was sure Turahl wouldn’t mind that at all. It would deliver the point sufficiently. Broken limbs were particularly frowned upon. Not only were they extremely painful, but also made life quite difficult until the bones had regenerated fully. If he had reasons to be really nasty, Daavo could make a compound fracture that never quite heals right. But as he stated, this was just business, and he didn’t mean permanent harm to this, in his eyes defenseless, creature.

[The Seal]

(( I'd applogie for the short post + late reply. Let's just say I had some problems that... ade me worry. Sorry. I'll make up for this later. =) ))

Kalados sighed. This was growing irritating, to say the least. He knew, he is in some serious trouble right about now, as there wasn't quite much the Zarbak could do. This Rodian was almost maddeningly out of control, he thought to himself. Kalados really started to wonder, if this stealing wasn't really a joke after all. But, as the threats of the attacker continued, he knew that he couldn't trust nor his words, nor his movements. Yeah, maybe it was just business, as he claimed. But he seen the satisfaction coming from the Rodian throughout the fight. But even though, the odds were still uneven. Even though the Zarbak carried his weapon, it was obvious that the Rodian had the upper hand. But for how long.

The Zarbak seen the attacker move forward, and finishing his sentence about the consequences. And Kalados followed the Rodian's movement, sliding his left leg back, to get a slight more balance, and then, his crimson red eyes, were locked on the greenish-er creature in front of him. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Nor do I know any of the places you are claiming I have something with them." He spoke, slowly, and carefully, if the Rodian would decide to attack. But he didn't. He was waiting for the Zarbak to move, obvious. He knew he should be careful though, then, with one wrong movement, he could loose more than just his knife in a disarming process.

And Kalados rushed forward, with the very highest speed he could of had gathered at that given point. As he was running, he passed the knife from his right, to the left hand. He knew, that he was able to use it in both hands equally good, and the hand-to-hand passing wasn't new to him. This action should serve the plain purpose of slightly confusing the enemy, and hopping to score a hit, maybe turn the tables, even though the odds were stickily against him. The adrenalin was on it's peak now, and, he would send his left hand in a vertical slash motion on the Rodian, the knife shinning dangerously in the sun, as it's blade made it's way, from right to left, in a sharp angle, in the attempt to damage the opponent. But, even though, if the attack would or wouldn't hit, the Zarbak would leap forward, trying to tackle the Rodian before he could get out of his reach.

[Corto]

There was more nonsense coming from the Zabrak, more denial. Daavo could have expected a thief to be a liar also, even in the eye of obvious circumstances. He was slowly growing tired of it. But he would not rush things out foolishly. Impatience didn’t make him survive years in war and the bounty hunting business. He was ten times better trained than his opponent, but underestimating an enemy with a knife led fighters to all sorts of accidents. He had seen it many times before. Disarming the Zabrak was a necessary action before anything else could be done. The best way was not to rush in, but to wait for the foe to expose himself and turn his own momentum against him.

There came another of those stupid, anger-fuelled charges, like the Rodian bounty hunter expected. However, there was also a slight element of surprise. The Zabrak, in full swing, switched his grip expertly from right to the left hand. He was ambidextrous, something highly unorthodox in a con and cheat, not a fighter. Unless Daavo wasn’t told everything about his target. That had happened and he wouldn’t be shocked to discover Turahl kept something away from him. His target turned out to have some skill after all.

Anyway, the exchange manoeuvre didn’t catch the Rodian off-guard. He had a lot of experience, and even at top speed, the Zabrak was much slower than him. Avoiding a slash was not a problem. It was only the matter of self-discipline, waiting for the right moment without fear. For slower beings, this was their undoing. Either they moved too early, allowing enemy to adjust the blow, or too slow, ending up with inches of durasteel in their chests. But Daavo’s skill was exceptional. He realized that the perfect moment to execute his riposte was when the Zabrak had just started making a thrust against him. He watched the entire posture of his opponent, but the knife held his special intent. When the weapon had reached its peak and began to descend, only then he made his move.

He didn’t try to escape or to clutch the arm holding the weapon. Instead, he lurched to his left and down, away from the swing. His outstretched palms reached the sand first, arms bending slightly in the elbows and absorbing the fall. His balance was focused. Then, when his hip came to the ground, he launched his both legs against the enemy. A powerful slide kick aimed at the calves was supposed to swipe the Zabrak off his feet and send him rolling into the ground. There was no way the speeding man could avoid being hit and thrown of his rhythm. Speed and precision, more so than strength, were to decide in Daavo’s favour in this battle. The crowd was chattering, they were taking sides and cheering their favourites up. The Rodian paid no care to that. There was only the fight. And, despite his former objections, he was starting to enjoy it too.

[The Seal]

There was no use talking, as the Zarbak noted, in the short time they were in the fight. The Rodian is just plain deaf. There is no use to give away any more words for this green skinned fighter. He knew, that this person was stubborn, and deadly dangerous while being like that. Yes, Kalados had quite some quarrels with the like of those, and it never ended too good for him. Silently, he was wondering if he should just apply for a punching bag job, that, that is the only thing he was good for. Funny though, all those hits he got trough out the years, made him more durable that the normal everyday brawler. Not that that could help him being punched to dead. As he seen the Rodian avoid the knife, the Horned humanoid knew that his time is ticking away. No way he can catch up with that speed. No way he can survive if he really wants to kill him that badly.

His training wasn't enough at all. Whatever he might do, the Rodian will always be one step ahead, like he seen before. He cursed under his breath, as those thoughts flashed around his head, as he seen his attacker dropping on the ground, with grace and balance. That wasn't a good sign, he thought with a piece of fear in his deepest thoughts. And so it was. The Rodian's legs slammed into his calves. The Zarbak was in pain, as he lost his balance like one to many times before in this battle. His legs were send backwards, as his upper body still advanced towards the ground. He outstretched his hands in a dire attempt to land on them, but he forgot he was carrying a knife, and, with that strange maneuver, his left hand , more precisely, his wrist bended, so, as he knew his luck, his chest fell directly on top of the said weapon. With a THUD, the Zarbak closed his eyes, and felt how the cold blade, that he always trusted his life, penetrated his right side of his chest, crushing some fragment of one of his many ribs, as the dagger flew pass, and cutting directly into his still warm flesh.

Kalados, rolled on his back, and now all could see the damage the dagger had done. it was halfway in his own body, as the Zarbak had his back arched upwards, whole body shaking in the pain pulse. He knew, he was done for. The Rodian was far more stronger than him, and, with that kind of wound, only minutes before the pain would be too much. He was slowly loosing it, and his body going more and more numb with each passing moment. Yet, Kalados crawled with his legs, that still felt a great amount of pain due to the kick, pushed himself away from the Rodian, and he stood up. With a knife in his chest. Yes, the Zarbak was, if not else, Persistent. Though, he was unable to stand straight, so, he had to keep himself bended forward, with his left hand on the wound. Barely standing straight, as the blood kept flowing down the wound, soaking the robe, and the ground, and with that, the blood from his nose that was all over his mouth and on his chin, looked like a simply drop of rain compared to an ocean.

"I hope...You are happy with yourself, you half brained idiot. I'm not the one you're looki-" But he stopped, not saying anything more. Why would he, the guy wouldn't even listen anyways. He could see in his eyes, just before the kick, that he was enjoining himself. Kalados couldn't blame him. Many creeps exist in this rotten galaxy. "Come...I'm still standing. " The bleeding humanoid stated. "If that was the best you got...Then you might as well go back from where you came...." He knew, that this were probably his last words, but, at least, he didn't ran away.

His right hand slided down to his belt, and in a bag, tightening his grip, as he took out something round, metallic, and, with a weak glowing red light on top of it. It was a thermal detonator. With one push, the both would be blown away. So, if the Rodian decided to attack it would be a suicidal run. Kalados smiled to himself, then he knew that the Rodian wouldn't knew what he was holding. His hand was still in his bag, for that matter. "I just hope..You're happy with failing to do a proper job..." The Zarbak stated.

[Corto]

Daavo made his move, the lower part of his body came to semi circle and then the feet reasserted themselves on the soil, and he got up, spinning on one heel. The way his legs cut the opponent’s, how he had lost his balance and pummelled down and forward, it was perfect. Perfect and disappointing. Again, the world of difference between Daavo’s class and the Zabrak’s ineptitude showed. Victory was imminent and it tasted sour, because it was more than easy. But then Daavo shouldn’t have allowed himself a thought it could be any different. He was stuck with a boring, humiliating assignment a semi-competent droid could accomplish. Nothing more, and not much could be less. Now he was staring down at the Zabrak’s back, his excitement cooling down as fast as it had fired up.

Something was wrong. On the ground, just round the man’s chest, a dark reddish stain appeared and grew quickly. It was a bad sign and a reason for concern. He was employed to give the Zabrak a lesson. If he had accidentally caused his death, Daavo wouldn’t be paid. Turahl had weaselled himself out of an agreement before, and he would do the same this time more than gladly. The Rodian watched the stretched opponent intently for a second or two, worried about his payment. He did not care for the Zabrak’s life, but if the crook had died, it would be all just a waste of time. Then, to his imminent relief, the Iridonian rolled on his back. The crowd went all ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaahs’, some more perverted individuals laughed or snickered. The knife stuck from the Zabrak’s chest. It went in deep. It looked bad, and for a moment the concern was really flared up. But the stab wasn’t immediately fatal.

Medicine wasn’t on top of the Rodian’s interest. But he knew things have not yet gone the worst when the Zabrak lifted himself up, with visible effort. Against himself, Daavo felt some dose of appreciation for his target’s determination. The pain must have been agonizing, yet he stood and even spoke. Something in the situation, the effort made to once again say he wasn’t the one, almost convinced Daavo that he had made a mistake. What fool, with a thick and cold blade stuck between his ribs, would persist in such lies? Perhaps he would stop to give it more consideration, if he was more of a brooding type.

However, by a twisted stroke of fate, he didn’t have to. While the Zabrak was making his dramatic speech, the Rodian’s attention was drawn to something, someone, in the background. Through a small opening in what was now considerable audience, the bounty hunter saw a robed figured quickly departing the scene. The person was quite in a hurry, such that he had almost missed him vanishing in a shadowy alley. The most important thing about that image was the back of a head. Dark hair with a crown of horns, their alignment exactly as the one over his opponent’s forehead. And just before that suspicious stranger disappeared, he turned his head back, looked at Daavo. Huge eyes of a reptilian were tuned to spotting details from good distance. He recognized the expression on the other Zabrak’s face, the feel in his eyes. Fear. A shower of understanding rained upon him. He had made a mistake after all.

There were two choices he could have made now. He could have rushed past this unknown Zabrak he took for his target. What had happened was unnecessary and embarrassing, but why should he care for some stranger? He had a job to do and the best course to finish it quickly was to follow the right man before he submerges into the city jungle that Geltyu was. That was exactly what Daavo had wanted, to be done with this shameful contract as fast as possible. However, this was not the path he chose. ”I need a medic!” He shouted and turned to the crowd behind him, turning his back on the victim of his poor scouting performance. The Zabrak had an easy way to bolt him in the back, and he probably deserved it. Besides, the Rodian highly doubted a knife in the chest made the other man desirous of moving, much less throwing punches. ”Shomeone hash to patch thish one up! I’ll pay!” The last sentence finally stirred some interest. Already there were people in the crowd that looked like their were volunteers for the job, or knew someone who could do it.

Daavo was sloppy. Instead of making a thorough check on this Zabrak, he let his disgust take the reins. He could have left the man to bleed to death, or to be stabbed, certainly robbed in the matter of few minutes. He didn’t, because he was a rarity among men of his trade. He sometimes concerned himself what was honourable. Certainly, leaving this Zabrak to death was not one of such things.

[The Seal]

His words had less, and less life in them. And his knees started to shake, soon enough he would drop on the said body part. He was rapidly loosing blood, but, that wasn't the thing that he was worried about. He noted, than the Rodian turned around, and, he could see that the green skinned Bounty hunter experienced something. It was readable from his face. The Zarbak wanted to smile, but had no energy to do so. The blood was now all over his brown robe, as he could feel the wound burning inside of him. Burning in such pain, it was almost otherworldly. He was unable to speak, and his vision blurred, everything was faint and foggy in his eyes. Everything went black, then again he blurred vision came. The vision circled around those two factors, and, it looked like he was loosing his grip. He was fainting.

Even though, he heard the Rodian yell something. But it wasn't a war cry, not an insult. Could it be that he finally understood, because, the Zarbak was almost certain that he was too stubborn for that. But, no, he heard right. he was asking for help. He had no idea why he was doing that. This Rodian wasn't a mugger at all. He had a heart. Not a fully corrupted one, as he was pleasantly surprised. But that mattered not, then everything went blank, He could feel himself falling towards the ground, but, strangely, two pairs of hands cough him in mid air. The Rodian's bribe lured two humans males, around their mid thirties, dressed in some faint blue trousers with a black sleeveless shirt. No way the two were good at heart, but, sometimes, greed can also be good.

As one started to remove the knife, and mend the wound, the Zarbak could hear the another one speaking to the Rodian about how much credits exactly. As the knife was quickly removed, and the human started to rub some sort of medicine on it, Kalados could feel, not simply humiliation, he was used to that. He felt like he will need to repay the Rodian later on. But in fact, it was he who did this to him in the first place. The human gave the Zarbak something to drink, which tasted like some sort of, painkiller-drug-beverage.

All that happened in just mere second, and the pain simply started to disappear, but he still was to weak to move. All he could do is open his eyes, and look, no, stare into the Rodian, but, not in simple anger, a piece of gratitude could be seen in his eyes. His hand was removed from the Thermal detonator. It was no use blowing himself up now. Not yet, that is.

[Corto]

((Very sorry for the delay. I’m juggling RL’s demands. Should be freed up starting from the weekend.))

Sure as a dianoga in a sewer, a couple of human men stepped forward. Humans were everywhere, their species seemed to dominate this galaxy, and they fitted every department. From a janitor, to a big entrepreneur, to the worst of scum. These two were clearly the latter, and they were tempted by the money. No doubt, they judged letting the Zabrak die during the mandatory haggling would leave them with nothing, so one started to mend the wounded man as the other spoke. And this unlikely medic showed some skill too. Now the Rodian knew what he was paying for.

”Okay, Greeno. Ambulance’s here,” the negotiator spoke with a smug smirk. Daavo knew his kind well enough, and expected a straightforward rip-off, at the prices much higher than any legitimate, and conscientious, doc would offer. He was not disappointed by the not-so-good Samaritan. ”That’ll be five hundred creds.”

Daavo twitched his antennae and rubbed his snout. Half a grand? Of course this was a downright theft. It was all he could do to indulge a man with customary counter offer. ”That’sh shteep. Give you half of that.” Two hundred and fifty credits was still a blatant overpay, specially where Daavo’s finances were concerned. He only had about four thousand raked altogether, and most of that would perish for some usual expenses like food, petrol, a place to crash or landing permits. Much has depended on the assignment from Turahl, which didn’t come out as easy as he anticipated.

”No do. As I see, we were on the road and stepped out to help, home visit. Four hundred,” the talking part f the duo hadn’t lost his smile. Behind him, the guy was patching the Zabrak fast. The knife was gone and the bleeding stopped, although it looked more makeshift than anything. Any misunderstanding in the pay division, and he’d simply rip off the shallow dressing and leave the man to bleed out. The Rodian hadn’t much room to negotiate. He was in a need here, an honourable debt. Money was second place.

”Three fifty, and you help me move him from the shtreet,” he spoke, staring his new business partner in the face. To a human eye a Rodian’s countenance was almost always unreadable. Making out Daavo’s thoughts or not, the man nodded in agreement, honouring the tradition of many successful bargains. The credits changed hands and the other man started working more quickly and aptly than before. They had an understanding and the Zabrak’s life was safe, unless something unexpected happened.

”Where do you want him delivered?” The new owner of Daavo’s three hundred and fifty credits pointed his thumb at the patient. The doc was looking over, waiting for the Rodian bounty hunter’s decision. Daavo didn’t have much choice in the matter. He didn’t know the area. The only place that sprang to his mind was the Resting Place. He motioned to the bar, ”In there.” The den wasn’t the most fortunate of choices, but it was really the only one available. There were no other establishments in Daavo’s line of sight. Resting Place crawled with all sorts of two-faced, double-crossing thugs, the owner wasn’t particularly friendly either, but it had to do. The two hired assistants slowly lifted the Zabrak and ferried him into the building without a word, while the Rodian made the route clear.