This place smells like a zerkin’ caulker nest,” Sera murmured, restraining the urge to press the hem of her cloak over her nose. Barely. On Coruscant, the first thing that had caught her attention was the grandeur of the city, sweeping past the edge of the horizon, glowing bright enough to fill even the darkness of night with light. On Selen, it had been the people, hundreds upon hundreds of races, colors, languages, saturating the three distinct urban layers with life and personality. Each city had been totally unique, vibrant, with a manifest and personal energy that could not be emulated or replicated. Each one showed her something new, something totally different from the tiny market-settlements that she had known on Iridonia.
On Nal Hutta… it was the smell.
Putrid. Rank. Somehow living and dead at the same time, like something that had crawled into the gutter to rotthat hadn’t croaked its last quite yet. The scent was pervasive. It was in the streets, it infiltrated the sky-cabs, it coated every dura-concrete surface in a thin, filmy slime that squelched under her boots, sticking when she pulled away.
“What even is that?” the Zabrak gasped, again forcing her gorge down as it tried to rise. At her side, Ruka Tenbriss Ya-ir just chuckled, patting her gently on the back.
“That, ra’tueria, is sewer,” he responded knowingly, his expression half-amused, half-unhappy. “Aaaand… well, piss. When you’re strung out in the street, finding a bathroom isn’t as important as finding the next fix.”
From what she knew about him, what she could sense rolling off of him in waves, he was at least partially familiar with the scent. He’d been a cityboy, once, and she could feel a mixed sense of dueling comfort and contempt.
And beneath that, there was wariness. Turning her eyes back to the crowds around them, she did as he had recommended when they stepped off of their shuttle, and watched. Beady eyes and sallow faces in a vast array of shapes filled her view. Ruka had warned her that any number of these people would pick her pocket or pilfer her weapons without a second’s hesitation if she wasn’t careful. Losing her lightsaber to a robber in the street would have been just about the worst start imaginable to their mission… and she could just imagine how long the Mirialan would be holding that ‘object lesson’ over her head. He reminded her of her own older brother in that way. Always looking to teach her a lesson, always so frakking protective. She loved them both for it, really, but Ancestors damn it, being treated like a helpless child rubbed her horns the wrong way.
“Right… so, sewer and piss. Great. Y’think any of these katkas have been sampling our target?” she asked, motioning to a junky that was passing by them. A male Dathomirian, the man looked like he was barely even awake, stumbling down the sidewalk. A string of drool hung from his lip, blebbing down his front at a consistent tempo. By Sera’s side, Ruka just chuckled, his voice slightly bitter.
“I don’t even know. Seeing how fast that kark spread in Estle, it’s gotta be like wildfire over here. Could be everywhere,” he stated, green lips pursing tightly. The two of them shared an unhappy look. Their objective was relatively simple. In the last few months, a new narcotic had sprung up in the Selenian underbelly. Nova was a deceptive drug. A fine, pink powder, it was designed to be inhaled, instilling within the user an incredibly powerful rush of energy, vigor, lowering of inhibitions, and an unmatched euphoria. Innocent enough symptoms, sure. Then came the side effects. High doses had a tendency to cause psychotic episodes, permanent neural scarring, or could simply cause the victim’s heart to burst within their chest. Besides that, it was also intensely addictive, and was thusly highly lucrative.House Galeres had only tracked the distributors down by following a long trail of overdose victims.
Most of them had been kids.
Sera gave another sigh, turning her eyes away from the shuffling, beat-down crowd, towards a ruddy neon glow ahead. The sign read The Muffled Moan, accompanied by an animated holo of a Twi’lek, gyrating with endless, glowing exuberance. If the waves of revulsion rolling off of her partner were any indication, this was not the sort of establishment that he liked to frequent. Oh well,; at least their plan was simple. As they cleared out the ring in Estle it had become quite clear that whoever was calling the shots was running an operation that went far beyond Selen, or even Dajorra. So, they had scoured the galaxy for a possible contact, a rogue or an insider, someone with information and a willingness to cut a deal. That search had turned up Thakkar Tripp. The Rodian had promised them enough information to pull up the whole rotten mess and burn it, root and stem… for a price.
And, of course, he wanted to meet at a strip bar. “To seal the deal,” as he had said. Real charmer, he was.
The duo paused just outside the bar’s central entrance, the acrid stench of alcohol and pungent body odor wafting out through the double doors to intermix with the scent of sewer and drying urine. As they started to push their way through the throng before them, hands periodically checking their weaponry, Ruka leaned down close, whispering in Sera’s ear.
“When we get in there, you do the talking. You’re… better at this stuff. I’ll probably try and take the franger’s head off,” he admitted grudgingly, violet eyes meeting her gaze. Sera was surprised by that revelation, a slow grin breaking out on her face
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” she responded, her smile widening and growing in intensity. “I mean, what could go wrong?”
-
Miejda, that was probably a bad frakkin’ idea Ruka thought to himself, watching Sera traipse on ahead, towards the central table that Thakkar had laid out for them. Like most everything else in the broken down burlesque, it was shoddily constructed from duraplast and aluminum. Unlike most of the other tables within the Moan, however, this one had no half-naked dancer straddling it, surrounded by cheering, jeering patrons..
A few leering eyes turned round as Sera passed, watching, and low, alcohol-scented whispers filtered along through her wake. Ruka saw it all. The pointing fingers, wagging tongues, bulging eyes. When the men noticed him, walking just behind the young Zabrak, they found themselves subjected to a stare that was more than a little murderous. His message was clear, razor sharp. Don’t even frakkin’ think about it.
He’d grown up among men like this. Been raised by one. He wouldn’t let them lay a damn finger on his friend.
The table was empty, though the duo had barely arrived on time. Casting a look over her shoulder, Sera gave Ruka a shrug and a toothy grin that could have melted a glacier with its warmth. Then, rolling her shoulders, she pulled a seat and sat idly down, waving for a passing server. Instead of joining her, the Mirialan took up a standing position just behind her shoulder.
“Not gonna kick back, Ru? It might be a little while,” Sera asked, her lips quirking slightly. Ruka slowly shook his head, peering around the bar. Discreetly, he patted down his torso, checking to make sure his blades were loose in their sheaths, and his lightsaber ready on his belt.
“Nah. Just act like I’m your bodyguard. Frangers like this… they respect the value of hired muscle almost as much as personal strength. Stupid, gangbanging sithspit,” he spat, shaking the thick braids that fell across his shoulders. Sera just chuckled.
“Heh. Noted. Anything else I should know? Do they like dances? Flowers?” she joked, her smile wide and incredibly happy. Somehow, she even managed to pull a laugh out of him. She reminded him of his own husband, sometimes. So bright, so alive that it was near impossible not to be happy around them.
He would protect that brightness. That goodness. He had to; it was just who he was.
His musings didn’t distract him from noticing movement at the other end of the table, violet eyes flitting upwards. A Rodian had sidled in, droppin languidly into a seat. Ruka couldn’t quite stifle his sigh. Everything about Thakkar practically screamed scoundrel. The shabby state of his leather armor, plated with scrappy pieces of duraplast spoke of a rough, ready life. The beady, half-lidded look to his eye spoke of a liar. the easy, dangerous way that he carried himself whispered of a killer.. He was flanked by a trio of thugs in dark combat leathers, blue-steel blasters and wicked knives shining at their hips. The Mirialan hardly needed to reach out with the Force to sense the man’s treacherous nature. He could practically smell it. At his side, Sera frowned, her brow furrowing. Obviously, she was feeling exactly what he was.
“You’re Thakkar?” she started, giving the Rodian a half-smile.
“Eyyyup,” he affirmed, elongated lips puckering. “Ya here to deal? Or jabber ya pretty lips?”
The jest seemed to roll right off of Sera, her lips quirking up in amusement. Ruka just twitched. It seemed like letting her do the talking had been a good idea.
“Dealing sounds pretty good to me,” she responded, scratching at her horns. “If you’ve got the info we need, we’ve got the creds. I think… fifty thousand was the Clan’s last offer?”
Thakkar laughed, a filthy, rough sound, the cackle of a scavenger drunk on stale whiskey. “Naaaah, Hhorns. Hundred and fitty, or ya aren’t gettin’ a damn thing,” he stated, before his eyes narrowed slightly. “...maybe a little slice of ya honeypot to cut the price down. I nevvah bagged a Zab before…”
Sera’s eyes rolled, and she started to speak, but Ruka cut her off, growling. “Not happening, slimeball.”
The Zabrak shot him an angry look while Thakkar looked on, chuckling anew. “Greenie here speakin’ for yah, horns? Listen, you wanna take down The Ghost’s Eyes, you’re gonna need to do better than that.”
Sera turned back quickly, her brow rising. “The Ghost’s Eyes? What’s…”
“Them’s the karkers you’re messin’ with, girly,” the Rodian responded cooly. “And they’ve got ya right where they want ya.”
“What do you mean?” Sera questioned, her brow furrowing.
“I mean,” the Rodian drawled, “That ya should have taken my deal.”
A line of ice shot through Ruka’s chest, a bolt of lightning arcing down his spine as he felt the attack coming. Without warning, a. crimson blast of light glowed from under the table, the sound of blaster-fire ripping through the cantina. Thakkar had fired at Sera under the table, where she couldn’t even have seen the attack coming.
Ruka stepped forward half a moment later, thrusting a palm outward. An invisible fist of force slammed into the table top, ripping it from its base, and sending it spinning towards the goons. Thakkar, quick on the draw, fell backwards, ducking the blow. His men were not so lucky. Although flimsy, the tabletop was also heavy, smashing into the first two of the trio with a harmonic duo of wet snapping, as their ribcages and spinal cords were powdered within their torsos. Though the third man managed to dodge past the tabletop, his luck didn’t last for long. Just as he raised his blaster, a blade sprouted from the base of his throat, blood jetting out from around the wound. Gurgling, he slumped to his knees, before sliding bonelessly to the floor.
Ruka turned, dumbfounded, to see Sera at his side, her hand still cocked from throwing the blade, the yellow glow of an energy shield glowing upon her wrist. It seemed that she had blocked the shot that Thakkar had intended for her. Sometimes, he forgot that her reflexes were just as sharp as his. The two exchanged a nod, and Sera cracked a toothy smile. The bar around them had gone totally still, all conversation dying.
The two looked to Thakkar, who was slowly crawling away from them. He in turn looked to the crowd somehow managing to act cool and confident while sprawled out on the floor. “W-well? Get them ya bastards! Fitty thousand creds wortha Nova to whoever brings me their heads!”
There was silence for just a second. Then, screams and the sounds of blaster being ripped from holsters filled the bar. Fully half of its denizens sprung from their chairs, beginning to charge Sera and Ruka. The other half ducked, dodged, and went running for the door.
They pressed themselves back to back, sabers igniting in unison. Things went downhill very quickly from there.
Ruka wasn’t able to see Sera. He could sense her close behind him, hear the meaty clomp of boot, dagger, and horned head meeting flesh, but he remained focused on the men to his front. All he could do was cover her back and thin these bastards out. As they charged, static filled the air, the metallic scent of ozone piercing through the smog of alcohol and sweat. The Sith roared as he stuck out a hand and let loose a storm of lightning, crackling up through his fingers. Cobalt tendrils struck the first man full in the face, lashing through his flesh, before jumping to the men next to him. One, two, three… half a dozen fell to the storm, eyes popping within their skulls as they fried. Their charge dissolved in an instant, their resolve evaporating. Then, Ruka was among them. With a white-knuckled grip on his saber, he revelled in the power that coursed through him, the Force filling his muscles, driving him like a wolf into their ranks. The first man hardly even tried to dodge, raising his hand as Ruka’s overhead blow came down. The hand fell free a moment later, as did the man’s upper half, as the blow split him from his left collarbone to the right side of his hip.
With that, the remaining ruffians turned and ran, screaming. Ruka grinned after them, the joy of power filling him. He turned just in time to see Sera fighting off the last three of her assailants, five other men laying in a broken ring around her. Growling, he rushed in to help her but, as it turned out, no assistance was needed. She pushed two of her opponents back before her with a steady rain of blows, downing one with a crushing elbow to the throat, before ducking into the next man’s guard, her Zabraki dagger flashing in the air as it sliced through his hamstring. The other came at her from behind, wildly swinging with a broken club. Snarling, the Zabrak pivoted on her back foot as the attack came, dodging to the side and slashing through his club with her saber. Then, she cocked her leg, and kicked him so hard in the balls that Ruka saw his eyes cross, the toe of her boot pointed up into his groin. Groaning, the man dropped. She left her opponents bleeding, moaning, and broken. But, they were mostly still alive.
The two of them exchanged a look, and he saw her eyes glance to the smoking corpses behind him. For half a moment, she shuddered. That hurt more than he knew how to describe.
Once again, they turned in unison just in time to see Thakkar staggering through the door, sneering as he tossed a small, cylindrical object behind him.
A second later, the flash grenade exploded into snowy oblivion.
