You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. A popular drinking and dining establishment located in the city of Mos Eisley on the desert world of Tatooine, Chalmun's Spaceport Cantina is run by the Wookiee Chalmun.

A single story building made of sandstone, the cantina consists of a bar area, private offices, a VIP lounge, a private hangar, a basement, and a phony shop in the rear. It caters to all sorts from across the galaxy, with spacious areas and wide arched doorways to allow patrons of all sizes passage. Unsurprisingly, a fair share of these guests lend to the cantina’s seedy reputation.

Entering through a small portal on one side of the building, a small passage curves around into the main bar area. Featuring many themed spigots resembling the heads of IG-series assassin droids, the bar is capable of producing several dozen drinks of Chalmun's own concoctions. Surrounded by eight different alcoves filled with stools, tables, and even a bandstand, the bar wraps from the public area around into the private back room.

Chalmun's Cantina had to be Darrio's favourite place on this side of the Outer Rim. The smell of ale and liquor wafted throughout the building like sweet nectar. The dimly lit bar bar was dimly lit and oddly enjoyable music provided a welcome distraction from the constant busyness of everday life. It was a collective hive of scum and villainy. Everywhere Darrio looked, he could imagine the credit signs displaying bounties hanging above the heads of the more seedier patrons, bounties just waiting to be claimed.

'Two-hundred credits… three-hundred… four-fifty…'

Yep. This was definitely Darrio's favourite place in the Outer Rim.

Alas, Darrio was a consummate professional. He was here on a job. As much as he'd like to cash in the heads of several individuals trying their luck at hiding in a crowded place, there was one individual who was worth more... A lot more.

Darrio waited patiently in his little alcove, taking another swig of the bitter drink from the bottle in his hand. He placed it down next to the three other bottles he'd devoured on the table, right beside his helmet.

He knew he should be ashamed of himself, but why? This was a drinking establishment, after all, and he was nothing if not a connoisseur of alcoholic beverages. Few places provided finer liquor than Chalmun's.

Darrio had a perfect view of the Cantina entrance from where he was, and barring some unfortunate obstruction, he would know his quarry when he saw him.

Some poor, unfortunate sod tried to take a seat at the table with him.

"Frack off, before I decide to hang you up by your entrails."

The Rodian seemed to get the idea, and scuttered away shouting obscenities at Darrio in a language he didn't understand. It didn't matter though, because there he was.

A large, hulking beast of a Nautolan ducked his head under the archway that led inside the main area. When he stood back up to his full height, the room fell silent as conversation ceased and the band abruptly stopped playing. The surrounding patrons' eyes went wide as they gawked at the behemoth before them, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a vibroknife.

Darrio raised his arm into the air. "He's with me."

The conversation slowly started back up as music began to play once again through the cantina. The Nautolan had seen Darrio and barged his way through the crowd of patrons to Darrio's table.

"Foxen Erinos," Darrio gestured to the other side of the table. "You're early. I wasn't expecting you for another ten minutes. Please, take a seat."

Foxen took the seat opposite Darrio at the table, his face locked into a perpetual frowning glare.

"Surprised to see me here so soon? I did arrange for us to meet at this time to discuss business, Foxen," Darrio took a large swig from a fifth bottle. He gulped one, twice, then three times, watching as Foxen's eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking in every detail that he could.

"You seem a bit tense," Darrio offered him a drink from the bottle in his hand. "Want some? There's no finer ale in the Outer Rim. Just don't ask me to tell you what it is, I stopped caring after the third bottle."

Foxen shook his head.

Darrio pursed his lips and shrugged. "Not much of a talker, are you? Oh well. More for me."

He downed the rest of his drink and sighed heavily when the bottle was empty. Darrio placed the bottle down and grabbed his helmet, placing it back on his head. "Right, so, down to business then…"

Foxen's eyes went wide when Darrio grabbed the closest empty bottle to him and smashed it on the edge of the sandstone table. The sound elicited gasps from the surrounding patrons as all eyes turned to see what was happening.

Darrio lunged across the table with the shattered bottle in hand, thristing the jagged edges towards Foxen's face.

Foxen moved his head just in time to avoid being nicked by the bottle, and grabbed Darrio's arm, throwing him to the side and out of their alcove down a small set of steps towards the bar area.

The Nautolan placed both of his hands under the sandstone table and slowly tilted it upright, pushing it up and over towards Darrio, intending to squash him beneath it.

Darrio's heart leapt out of his throat as he staggered back out of the way. The table smashed upon the floor and broke apart on the duracrete, kicking dust up onto the surrounding air.

'That was too fracking close!'

Darrio felt his heart pounding in his ears. Through the dust, he could make out the towering form of Foxen heading down the steps towards him.

'Sithspit!'

Darrio moved out of the way just in time as Foxen stabbed his Kyuzo Petar into the wood of the bar where he had been. Darrio saw his opportunity, activating the fibrecord launcher in his vambrace. As the line wrapped around Foxen's legs, torso, and arms, Darrio yanked hard on the wire, tightening the wire around the Nautolan's body. With a stiff kick to Foxen's midsection, Darrio sent him tumbling over with a heavy THUD.

A booming roar thundered from behind the bar area as all eyes turned to see the establishment's owner, Chalmun. He growled and pointed at Darrio and Foxen, howling in Shyriwook.

The cantina patrons began throwing credits onto the bar as some sort of elaborate bet, though they made sure to give Darrio and Foxen a wide berth.

Darrio was pleased to see most of the credits favoured him. He stepped over Foxen, planting his foot in the Nautolan's chest.

"I wasn't lying when I said I had business with you, it's just that business involves cashing in the price on your head. Turns out you've got blood on your hands... blood that belonged to people that mattered to someone else. I'm going to give you two options; I can bring you in dead, or I can bring you in alive. Makes no difference to me, so do us both a favour and stop struggling. Then again, what do you all think? Dead or Alive? And for kriff's sake, will someone get me another drink!?"

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, some for the slaughter, whilst others were against it. A drink was passed to Darrio's hand as he began to guzzle it down.

The liquor splashed against his trill-shaped visor, spilling down his front and soaking the undersuit between his armor plates. It splattered onto the black behemoth under his boot. The intoxicated man stared at the bottle for a moment with one slow blink, uncomprehending of the lack of liquid in his throat, before it clicked.

Right, he had put his helmet back on. What a waste of a good drink.

Darrio's momentary distraction with that fact seemed to be all Foxen needed. The Nautolan heaved, throwing himself into a sideways roll that dislodged the Human, sending him stumbling into the bar. But Foxen kept going, rolling thrice more until the fibrocord pulled taut, yanking the last First Son of Clan Klars right along with him.

His helmeted head bounced off the sticky dirt floor with a muted thump that did nothing to make his head ring any less. The bottle smashed as it impacted, glass crunching under him, small shards joining the jagged chunks of sandstone furniture as he was dragged along. The Bounty Hunter cursed and writhed, scrambling to get his boots back under him and regain his feet.

The Nautolan wasn't having any of it though: with the cord slackened by their proximity, he got one girder of an arm loose, gripped the tether, and pulled viciously. Caught between his own momentum as he stood to move back and Foxen's yank, Darrio's shoulder strained in its socket with a sudden, sharp pain. For a second, he thought it was going to pop out, before the bracer's non-beskar internal components gave first. With a metallic crunch, the winch mechanism that grounded the fibrocord ripped free of its baseplate, ripping out of the gauntlet entirely and taking pieces of plating and plastiques with it. A high whistle cracked through the dry air, and someone in the watching crowd shrieked as a crimson line appeared all the way down their face and arm, the cord continuing its trajectory in a whip's lash.

The rest of the onlookers except for that one poor sod cheered. It wasn't the first blood spilt they'd been anticipating, but it was something.

The Hunter, for his part, didn't even blink at the maimed bystander with a split eyeball. He was busy smacking at the sparking, spitting vambrace that didn't like being disemboweled. The view screen was cracked, wiring mucked up.

"You shab, if you messed up my bracer you're going to wish I'd brought you in cold—" he began to rage, only for movement and a looming shadow to catch out of the corner of his eye.

His body moved on years of battle-born instinct as he ducked a step aside of a powerful CRACK, the shot scraping by the upper edge of his helm instead of drilling between his eyes. He twisted back around to see Foxen standing now, feet planted, pointing a heavy pistol at him. Darrio cursed and threw up his arm on reflex, activating the energy shield in his damaged bracer. Relief and dread mixed in a churning slosh in his stomach as it came to life, flickering, a breath before Foxen fired again twice in quick succession.

But of course, the bullets passed right through his shield and punched into his armor.

The beskar of the bracer blocked one of the bullets, vibrating his arm to the marrow, but the other shot passed just by it, grazing his bicep through part of his unprotected undersuit. He shouted in pain, no doubt in his mind that even his Mandalorian steel wouldn't hold against a slugthrower with that much power if Foxen got any closer. His amban was a beautiful weight slung across his back, if only he could get it off. He needed space. He took two steps back, one forearm still raised, reaching for the strap with his free hand.

Foxen fired again.

And missed.

The bullet pinged harmlessly — to Darrio, at least — off at the bar. He fired again, missed, ping, that shot shattering a bottle. Adjusted his aim, fired, missed—

Ping!

Had those two really been lucky shots? The crowd booed, heedless of flying bullets in the face of entertainment and credit. The Bounty Hunter almost couldn't believe it, not compared to the price on the puck he'd been given.

"Is that really all you've got?"

Pingpingping! went the bullet this time as it bounced between the IG-headed spigots, too fast to follow with the eyes. Darrio didn't see it happen, only heard it, right before feeling impact crunch into his backplate.

The elder Klars gasped as he fell forward, catching himself on hands and knees and struggling to breathe. It didn't feel like he'd been shot in the back, but it sure as hell still hurt, and his lungs struggled to drag back in the air that had been knocked out, his spine vibrating from the spent force. He heard the crunch of glass and stone as heavy footsteps strode mercilessly closer, skin crawling violently with a sudden chill when the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck, at the base of his skull, in the gap between helmet and cuirass — a Mandalorian's execution.

A switch flicked.

Two rounds clicked into a chamber at once.

The hammer pulled back.

Darrio recalled: the booze had gotten on Foxen too.

He still had his other vambrace.

The Hunter snapped his arm up over his shoulder and activated the flamethrower.

Fire burst forth around the Nautolan, just for a second so as to not roast Darrio too, but it was enough. Foxen recoiled with a terrible, loud hiss, dropping his weapon. Darrio leapt to his feet, twisting around in time to watch as the flames licking after the retreating Erinos ignited the alcohol on him in a flash-burn, filling the area with the stench of cooking skin and singed fabrics. Foxen's face, lit by the flames, contorted in agony. The sound he made was more like a nexu coughing something up than a person screaming, all raspy and clogged.

It was so quiet, the roar of approval drowned him out. Behind his visor, Darrio smirked.

"My turn," he growled.

Ignoring the pain in his arm and back, he outstretched his hand and loosed a flurry of Kamino darts towards his quarry.