Feat: Constant Vigilance

The streets of Zsoldos were often a dangerous place to walk at night. If it wasn't the local gang known as the Gutter-Boyz, stirring up trouble, it was often some other degenerate trying to make ends meet.

Juda?

He literally didn't care. He walked among the riff-raff as a King. His own gang, Slaret Orat, or in the basic tongue Bloodhorn, were never very far. Still, he enjoyed the solitude of walking the streets alone. It gave him time to think. As he pondered life and the ever nagging anxiety that stemmed from parenthood and running the Underworld of the Mandalorian planet which he would eventually control in full. The Proconsul strode, his powerful gait slow and deliberate as he pulled a cigar from his suit pocket and bit down on it.

Sparks became flame as he thumbed his lighter and puffed an ember into existence. He took the moment to pause, not because he desired the aroma of the Iridonian tobacco between his lips. He paused to allow the being that had been following him time to catch up.

His datapad chimed in his pocket, but would go ignored as nothing was going to ruin his stroll through the yard. A term he used to refer to the local center of commerce and trade hub of the city he governed.

With his sense dialed into his surroundings, he hears the clatter of something down an adjacent alley. It was the rattle of inexperience. He had his suspicions on who it was but would curb any finger pointing and wait until the tail revealed themselves. It was only a matter of time, besides, he hated being wrong. Continuing his walk, he took turns that lead to winding alleys and corridors lined with spice addicts looking for a handout, droids carrying out their programming, and any other patron of the night life.

Subtle shifts of footwork sliding against the grated walkways triggered Juda's exceptional hearing as he took in a deep draw. The cherry at the end of his lips painted his ghoulish visage in an eerie light and his eyes flicked to his right. The sensation of spiders crawling up his spine was a feeling he only ever got when someone was creeping up from behind.

"Ya know, you have the subtlety of a rampaging Wampa." He spoke, seemingly to himself before a figure rounded the corner. "I thought I taught you better than that, Lugar." His frightening face cracked a smirk.

"How'd you know it was me, Dad?"

"I've listened to your footsteps since you learned to walk. I can recognize them anywhere."

"Are you gonna tell mom?"

Juda laughed and tussle his son's blue mowhawk. "Of course."

Lugar sneered. "Admit it, I almost had you."

"You didn't. Not by a long shot, kiddo. Now come on, let's get back. Your Mother is far more terrifying than your old man."

Juda flicked his cigar, sending it tumbling in a cascade of sparks and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders.

"Ya know, someday you'll be running this outfit."

The two continued their talk as they strode down the street until their words faded from earshot. It had been a long day.