Finished Line

     Off in the distance she could hear the crowd go wild again. The announcer chimed off some pointless quip, and then there was the noise of a number of pods zooming by. That was the order of events. It had been for the last twenty minutes and it would go on for at least another half an hour. But at least the chairs in here were comfortable.

     She had been waiting in the tent of one Owen Morton for some time now. Based on what the announcer was saying it wasn't exactly Morton's best day on the track. She wasn't exactly prepped to make it any better, considering that in a few hours he would be getting thrown in a dumpster. 

     This was of course the worst part of the job. Waiting for a mark could result in a number of hours, if not days worth, worth of waiting. That was enough to make someone take to a more "exciting" lifestyle. Of course that didn't mean that bounty hunting was boring, it just meant that certain people would never take certain jobs. Instead they would take the marks that they could charge head first into, which left her with the slower paced ones. She didn't mind, though. Planning was half the fun.

     In the case of this job, the Hutt who had posted it wanted the body to show up somewhere else. Someone being dragged away from the pits to be killed, or to be killed in front of a crowd. So instead she would wait. He would be frustrated, and in an attempt save face would be told to cool down instead of talk to any reporter. He would come back to his tent, and she would be waiting. There would be an oversized trash bag when she left.

     That didn't mean that she was immune to boredom. During times like this, her mind like many people's would simply wander. Today's topic of choice was of course the previous night. No matter how many times she went over it in her mind it still made no sense. Perhaps it never would.

     In the distance she heard the small crunch of sand underfoot, slowly growing closer. Up until now there hadn't been anyone else here with her. Her eyes narrowed, waiting for the newcomer to pass. Her hand rested next to her blaster as she listened closely. The distant noise made it harder to do so. After two long minutes had passed, a jawa slowly waddled by the tent, a number of pieces of scrap metal in its hands. She sighed, relaxing and leaning back in the chair. Scavengers.

     Suddenly there was something cold against her throat, an arm wrapped around her to brace her against the chair. She jerked her head back, slamming into someone else's. Based on the sound it was likely that she'd just broken someone's nose. In one quick motion the assailant spun around her, turning her and tossing her to the ground.

     Daeria's vision grew blurry for a moment. When it cleared she found herself staring up at the Rattataki from the previous day. The pale woman sneered down at her, her previous business woman's tone replaced with something much more sadistic, "Still looking for the press tent?" Daeria's throat was pulled up and her hood pulled back from behind. What the pale woman saw seemed to amuse her. "Oh that's just the pwettiest pink hair I ever saw," she cooed, speaking like one might to a child.

     "You're going to regret this," Daeria said. It was a rather brave thing to say, considering she had a knife to her throat. She slowly began reaching for her blaster, only to find she wasn't being subtle enough in the motion.

     The pale woman smirked, picking up Daeria's sidearm and looking it over, the knife never once leaving her throat. "Oh this is a very nice blaster," the rattataki mused, "I might just keep this." Tossing it away her focus shifted back to the Chiss, "Now then. How should we go about this?"

     Despite the fact that Daeria enjoyed what she did, it was people like the woman on top of her that made her cringe. She enjoyed the tactical part of the job. The feeling of triumph over another person. One could argue that she did indeed enjoy killing. But it wasn't the actual killing. It was the time leading up to that point. The pale creature, though, she enjoyed the killing. The brutality of it. The feeling of power it gave her, perhaps. It made her sick.

     The attacker drew the knife back a short distance, giving her finger space to run along Daeria's neck. "You know, I've never killed a Chiss before," she said. Her head tilted to the side, "I wonder if you're blood is blue too...Or is it red like your eyes? Questions questions. I think we'll start with this pretty blue neck of yours. That's a good start. When that's slit we can get to gutting you." She blinked a few times, before growing a horrible grin, "Are your eyes still red after you die? Oh those will be nice little trophies."

     Daeria didn't so much as squirm. This could drag on for some time at the rate the woman was going. Thus far there wasn't a need to panic. Panicking would lead to a wrong move, and a wrong move would lead to her throat getting slit. Getting an idea, she offered a small smile, "I honestly don't know. It's been awhile since I've bled. And you forget things sometimes, you know?"

     "Oh yes, we all forget things, don't we? Color of blood. Sanity," the attacker said, nodding.

     "Forget that at home, did you?" Daeria asked.

     "Obviously. Do you see where I am? Do you know how long I've had to deal with this little cretin, waiting for the point where some dainty little hunter would come along so I can end him, and at least get some fun out of someone like you?" she asked. She didn't give Daeria time to reply, slamming her fist into the ground, not even feeling the pain, "Too long."

     "I think you forgot something else," Daeria said.

     "Oh is that so?"

     Daeria nodded, twisting her wrist upward, and smiling, "I have a flamethrower, and you have a knife." The pale woman frowned. Her hand moved to try to get her kill over with, but she wasn't quick enough. Flames rushed from a small pipe on the Chiss's glove, licking the side of her attacker. The pale woman reeled upward, screaming in pain. She quickly distanced herself from the Chiss, scooping up the blaster from the ground. "Oh you'll regret that one."

     Daeria's mind moved quickly. It picked up the pace even more when she saw her preparing to fire. She could rush her, but that would just make it easier to hit her at point-blank range. She could try to fire off a missile, but she wouldn't put it above this woman to simply charge her.  Something. She had to do something or she was going to get shot, multiple times if she had to guess.

     From somewhere close by a shot rang out. Daeria flinched, tensing to anticipate the blow. When it never came, she opened her eyes only to find the Rattataki stumbling to the side. Daeria's blaster was dropped to the ground along with the knife. Her hand found her shoulder which was slowly coloring itself red. The woman turned, almost like a drunk would. She only found another round being put into the right side of her chest.

     Daeria blinked, turning to follow the path of the shot, only to find Redamous standing there, holstering his weapon. The woman stumbled over, falling to the ground without so much as a cry. Daeria let out a long sigh of relief, "Nice shot."

     Red shook his head, "Not really." She squinted at him, asking the question without asking it, "I was aiming for her head."

     Daeria shook her head, smirking slightly, "Take the compliment."

     He nodded, "Figure I'll take it and scram, honestly." He motioned around, "I honestly don't feel like being caught around here when they start poking around a bunch of corpses. And I'm gonna guess that weren't the one you planned on killing."

     "Something like that," she said. He nodded one last time, turning to go. Once he was at a distance, she raised her voice so that he would hear, "Thanks." He put a thumb up in the air, but didn't turn. Her eyes drifted to the corpse. Soon enough she had it stuffed in a trash bag like she had planned to do with the corpse's "client."

     Resting back in the chair felt too relaxing. Her blood was pumping now, her mind still racing. It would be at least a few minutes until it would come to a calm. She almost forgot to replace her hood. By the time her thoughts cleared, the pits were slowly filling with people. Morton had lost, as she had expected him too. Now it was just a matter of waiting. And hopefully this time there wouldn't be any interruptions.

Hours Later

     "What the hell are they putting in these things these days?" a man asked, heaving a large black bag over his shoulder.

     "Why should I know? This guy probably just threw some party to make himself feel better," another responded.
     "Seriously?"

     "I've seen him do it before. Guy needs the attention I guess."

     "Nice. I'm working with a psychiatrist now."

     "Oh har har. Screw him. Last thing I want to do is have to make two trips here."

     The first man pointed to another large bag, "Lets get the big ones and get this over with."

     Arriving at a large dumpster hidden away from prying eyes, the two flung the bags inside. One peaked into the large piece of metal, idly opening the bag, out of both boredom and curiosity. Blinking, he tapped his partner on the shoulder, "They threw away a pair of shoes."

     The second man turned, "No they didn't."

     "Yeah they did. Look."

     "That's not a shoe."

     "Yeah it is."

     "Let me rephrase that. That's not just a shoe," he said, his voice growing fearful.

     If the pits weren't completely empty, a few people might have heard the sound of two men screaming.

Two Sides, One Story

(Not one of my better ones, but it needed written as to get to the next part)

Twi'lek-Race of people, many times associated with slavery, known for their "head tails." http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Twi'lek

The Accountant

     This was again a moment where two different people in the same situation would have done radically different things compared to what was occurring. Certain people would have leapt for each other, whether for a passionate embrace, or for one to get at the other's throat. Others in the man's shoes would have bolted immediately, or would have never even came close to entering this conversation simply because of the nature of the man and woman's relationship. Yet here he was, and that very fact was throwing her for a loop.

     Her thoughts were organized blurs, everyone of them making the attempt to bring sense to what was pure nonsense. This shouldn't be happening, and now that it was she had no idea on how to handle it. There were a million names she wanted to call him, along with several other things that she couldn't even bring herself to say. When she could finally bring herself to speak, her voice held no emotion, just as it normally would, "Redamous."

     Much to her surprise he kept his hands where they were, tucked firmly in the belt loops of his pants. Daeria expected his hands to be closer to his blaster, but for the moment he seemed rather at ease with the situation. Whether he was being foolishly trusting or overly confident in his own ability wasn't a question one who knew him needed to ask. It was obviously the former. He took his turn to speak, doing much the same as she did, minus the lack of emotion, "Daeria." She found it hard to pinpoint just exactly how he said it. It wasn't in a hostile manner, nor was it in a joyful manner. The tone of his voice somehow managed to meet directly in the middle of the two. He might have been happy to see her, yet he wasn't about ready to fully accept that fact.

      "This is brave of you," she said, voice growing icy in the process, "Considering how you talk about me to everyone you meet." When she had first turned to see him, his face had been neutral in appearance, but now it twisted slightly into a frown. She wasn't ready to let him defend himself. Not yet. "You know. How I'm psychotic and what not. How the only reason I exist is to kill you."

     He raised a hand, silently asking her to stop. When she finally did, he replied in an even tone, trying to remain neutral with the entire matter, "I don't tell people that. Folks tend to fill in that blank themselves. 'Sides, what exactly do you tell folks? You tell 'em we're all close an' stuff?"

     Truthfully, she often told people how she planned to kill him.

     Silence managed to find its way back into the conversation. She though for a moment at his question, before deciding it best to just ignore it entirely. Turning, she began walking off. She could hear him close behind, which is what she had expected despite that expectation seeming nonsensical. What could she say? It was going to be an odd night. 

     "You ain't just gonna run off like that," he said, trying to sound amused as to hide the fact that he might be getting tired. He was more out of shape than she remembered. 

     "And you wouldn't know anything about running off, now would you," she said, stating the question more than asking it. 

     Red avoided the question just like she expected him to, "Where're we goin' exactly?"

     "Bar," was her cold reply. 

     "Alright. Sounds good. I'll buy you a drink," he said, sounding rather comfortable with the idea. 

     "I don't drink," she said, her voice back to it's full time monotone.

     "Can't imagine why..."

     The conversation ceased for some time as the two slowly worked they're way back towards town, the man following the woman. She stared forward, not once looking over her shoulder to check to see if she was still being followed.

     Off in the distance the planet's two suns slowly sank along the horizon, the temperature dropping as the suns did so. By the time they reached the settlement she was staying in for the night, the sky was dark and the stars were out, calmly watching over the lands below. The buildings were fairly standard, a mixture of clay and metal. The streets were unpaved, and the only lights were hung on the side of buildings, casting little light on where people would be walking. That didn't make it too hard to navigate, though. Light poured out of the windows of some buildings, and those that were open to crowds had neon signs to advertise such.

     Daeria turned, entering one such business, Red following close behind. The interior wouldn't surprise anyone who had seen their fair share of cantinas. It had one large, open room with a long bar running down the middle of it. Scattered around the edges of the room were a number of smaller seating areas, with various denizens.

     From one corner of the room, a drunken man stood up, flailing an arm in their direction, screaming out over the music, "Hey man!"

     Daeria glanced over her shoulder, "You know them." It was a question, despite her stating it more than anything.

     Redamous shrugged, returning the wave with an easy smile, yelling back, "Evenin'!" Looking to Daeria he offered a small smirk, "Apparently I do." Daeria squinted at him, but all he could do was shrug.

     The Chiss found a place she was comfortable with, making her way over to a particular table. It was pushed up against the wall, allowing for only two chairs to its left and right. She sat in one, and he sat in the other. Resting back in the chair, she pulled her hood back. Redamous did a double take.

     As with all Chiss, Daeria had blue skin and red eyes. That much could easily be seen through her hood. When it came to their hair, a Chiss's could range from blue to black, or in some rare occasions gray or even white.  Daeria, though, had dyed hers a fluorescent pink. His staring obviously amused her, as shown by the grin on her face. Now that her hood was down she considered herself off the clock, she could let herself have a little fun. "What?" she asked, hoping the answer would be just as good as his expression.

     "Um. Nothin'," he said, looking away suddenly. His eyes fell on a Twi'lek, who Daeria guessed to either be a dancer or a waitress. Probably both. Red waved her over, offering her his usual polite smile, "Evenin' there miss."

     The Twi'lek gave him a wink, smiling in return. "Evening there sweetie, what can I get for you?" she asked, a hand going to her hip as she waited for some kind of reply. She was dressed in little, and seemed ready to show that fact off.

     Upon seeing Redamous about to speak, Daeria broke in, sneering at the newcomer, "My husband and I'll have two rounds of whiskey, please." She offered the Twi'lek her own wink.

     The waitress frowned, walking towards the bar. She returned soon enough, setting their drinks on the table, glaring at Daeria as she did so. From another corner of the room, someone whistled, screaming out over the music again, "Hey lady! We need some more drinks!"

     Daeria smirked, leaning back further in her chair and looking up at the other woman, giving her a wink of her own "I think they need you 'lady', best get to it."

     Watching the Twi'lek depart, Red frowned, "Did you really need to do that?"

     "You're a married man. Shouldn't be flirting," she said. At the look he gave her, she added, "I'll leave her a big tip or somethin'."

     He grunted, sipping his drink to keep his mouth shut. Tipping her head back, she downed the entirety of her glass, setting it upside down on the table. He stared at the glass, downing his own drink and doing the same. Daeria grinned at him, "Think you can hold your drink this time around mister Malcolm?"

     He offered a small smile, "I think I can hold my own." She seemed disappointed. Sighing and rolling his eyes he tacked on, "Misses Malcolm. You sure this is a road you wanna to go down?"

     "Maybe we'll wake up divorced this time," she smirked.

     He waved the waitress back over, nodding, "Good enough reason for me."

     Soon enough they had ordered a bottle and were downing shots. Taunts were passed back and forth, right alongside jokes. Within an hour they had a crowd around their table cheering and booing their contender of choice. An hour after that and they had retired to the room she was renting. She didn't feel like having to trek all the way back to the spaceport just to sleep, and presently she was hardly worried about how Harbinger was doing.

     Once the door was closed, he settled down onto the bed, taking time to admire the room. In a moment she had leapt on top of him. As minutes slowly dragged by the lead each other around the room. Soon enough her armor was gone, and his jacket had been tossed aside. Flopping down on the bed, she stared at him, the thought hitting her that she was happy that she still kept a shirt on under said armor. Daeria frowned suddenly, sobering up. The entire scene was too familiar, and the last thing she wanted was a repeat of the last time. He blinked at her sudden change in mood, before seeming to go through the same thought process himself.

     Sighing, they both slowly crawled under the covers. Sleep never really found them, as it rarely did to those whose minds really weren't ready to stop thinking for the time being. She spent the night staring at the window, he spent the night staring at the door. Time crawled by them both, but finally, sleep did come. When he woke up, she was gone.

     She had a job to do.

The Captain

 

     Redamous still wasn't sure why he had followed her. He wasn't sure why he had followed her, and now he wasn't sure why he hadn't turned tail and ran. Whether she would just shoot him or not was still up in the air, and her silence wasn't making him feel very good about his chances. The safety on his blaster was off, which gave him enough courage to do what he was doing.

     "Redamous," she said after a long pause in the conversation.

     "Daeria," he said in return. He tried to sound just as neutral as her, but he couldn't do that. As far as he could tell no one could do that. There were times he would have thought she was a droid, but he knew that wasn't true.

     "This is brave of you. Considering how you talk about me to everyone you meet. You know. How I'm psychotic and what not. How the only reason I exist is to kill you." And now the neutrality was out the window. He frowned, but he still couldn't say she was wrong. Not in the slightest.

     "I don't tell people that," he said, a hand going up asking her to stop for a moment. It wasn't a complete lie.  "Folks tend to fill in that blank by themselves. 'Sides, what exactly do you tell folks? You tell 'em we're close an' stuff?"

     Her silence told him enough. The two stared in silence again. Red was certain that it was going to be a running theme for the evening. Her attire had changed since he had last seen her. She had traded in the standard durasteel plate for something that resembled a coat, while still obviously being armor. The back of it hung down around the back of her knees like a duster might, but the area around her shoulders was covered in metal. The entire front of it appeared to be covered in cloth. Her hood was a new addition too.

     She turned suddenly, wandering off down the dusty road, breaking his train of thought. He gave a soft sigh, walking after her. "You ain't just gonna run off like that," he said. He tried to keep his breathing steady, but it was getting hard to hide the fact that he had been in the sun all day, walking for parts of it, and was more out of shape than he was willing to admit.

     "And you wouldn't know anything about running off, now would you," she said. It might have been a question, but she presented it more like an oddly phrased fact. Boy did she know how to aim below the belt.

     "Where we goin' exactly?" He wasn't going to answer it. He knew she knew he wasn't going to.

     "Bar."

     "Alright. Sounds good. I'll buy you a drink." The thought of that made him feel comfortable. He could do with a good drink right now. Though he wasn't sure he should be drunk right now.

     "I don't drink."

     "Can't imagine why."

     The town the entered only looked vaguely familiar to the Captain. He felt like he might have passed through here once or twice before, but it hadn't been for long. Depending how things went, this stay might not be very long either. The same could be said of the cantina they entered.

     From the back corner came a loud shout. Glancing in that direction he saw a flailing man. The thought crossed his mind on whether he was just drunk or needed actual medical attention, but his slurred "Hey man!" confirmed that it was the former. Hopefully.

     Daeria looked back at him without stopping, "You know them." Again it was something that was probably meant as a question, but she was intent on not asking it as such.

    Red shrugged, returning the wave and yelling back, "Evenin'!" Looking back to his wife, he smirked and shrugged, "Apparently I do." She squinted at him, but his answer remained the same. He might have known them. He was fairly certain he didn't, but he might.

     She found them a table and made herself comfortable. He did the same, resting back in the seat. He started to think about finding some time in his schedule but that thought didn't keep his focus for long. It didn't keep his focus for long because she immediately stole it when she pulled her hood back. The last time he had seen her, her hair had been blue. Now it was, in the cantina's lighting at least, a glowing pink.

     "What?" she asked, trying to play dumb.

     "Um. Nothin'," he said, looking away as to try to end the topic now. Spotting who he guessed to be a waitress, he waved her over. He smiled up at her, "Evenin' there miss."

     The woman, a Twi'lek wearing an outfit that was making it difficult for him to remember where her eyes were, winked at him, seeming to ignore Daeria, "Evening there sweetie, what can I get you?"

     He opened his mouth to speak, but his companion beat him to it, much to his dismay, "My husband and I'll have two rounds of whiskey."

     Soon after they had their drinks they heard the drunks in the corner screaming again. This time it wasn't a random greeting directed at Red, and was instead a summons for the Twi'lek. "Hey lady! We need some more drinks!"

     Daeria leaned back, smirking, "I think they need you 'lady', best get to it."

    "Did you really need to do that?"

     "You're a married man. Shouldn't be flirting." He frowned, shaking his head. She rolled her eyes, "I'll leave her a big tip or somethin'."

     It was starting to hit him as to why he kept his distance. It was sick the way such a thing amused her. Yet as he thought about it, there might have been a situation where he would have done the exact same thing.

     She downed her glass quickly, turning it over and setting it on the table. He did the same, albeit after he had taken some time to think about it. He wasn't entirely sure this was a road he wanted to go down tonight, especially with her. "Think you can hold your drink this time, mister Malcolm?" she asked.

     He smirked, knowing full well he could. To a point. "I think I can hold my own," he replied. This time it was her turn to give him a look, one of disappointment. In the back of his mind he kept telling himself to get up and leave before he dug himself a hole deep enough to die in, but nonetheless added "Misses Malcolm. You sure this is a road you wanna go down?"

     "Maybe we'll wake up divorced this time."

     He waved waitress back over, even though this was likely the last table she wanted to be serving. Aside from the people in the corner, maybe. He smirked at the thought, "Good enough reason for me."

     If there was one thing he had managed over the years, it was building up some for of tolerance. Eventually even that broke, though. Things began to blur. First there was one bottle near them. Then two. He couldn't tell if that was a third of if his vision was splitting. The crowd of people nearby was there, that he was certain of.

     Then there was a point of her leading him by the hand to the room she had rented upstairs. His jacket found its way to the floor. He found the latches on her armor. They both found the bed. But then things became clearer. She looked at him oddly, but not quite at him. It was more through him, a look known to anyone who's thought about something at an odd point and checked out of the current moment to do so. He didn't even have to ask what it was she was thinking about, as the thought hit him as well. This was too close to retreading old ground.

    He turned, crawling under the covers. He could feel her doing the same. His eyes wandered to the door, and hers to the window. There were points where he wanted to turn over and say something, but he wasn't entirely certain as to what it was he wanted to say. Instead he simply focused on the door. Finally he drifted off to sleep.

     He awoke to the sun peeking through the window, alone. Red sat up, looking around, smiling sadly as the irony of the situation hit him. Maybe irony wasn't the right word. He thought it was, but that really didn't matter. He scrambled around, getting dressed.

     Red had someone to catch up to.

From the Crowd

Related articles that may assist in reading, collected together in a glossary of sorts:
Tatooine-Desert planet. http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Tatooine
Podracing-Form of racing seen in Episode 1. http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Podracing
Hutt-Large creatures that are usually involved in crime. http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Hutt
Rattataki-Bald, pale race of near-humans(being an offshoot of the human race) that are known for their violent society. http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Rattataki

     The roar of the crowd rose as the racers zoomed by. The stands physically shook with every passing pod, not by the vibrations they gave off, but because the people watching were absolutely livid. Most didn't even bother to shield their eyes from the cloud of dirt that was shot towards them. Once the racers had moved on from the crowd's sights and into the desert wasteland that is Tatooine, the crowd's eyes shifted up to the giant screens above.

      The leader of the pack had gained even more ground on this lap. The numerous gamblers in the stands were a mixed bag. Some were grinning, and patting their friends shoulders. They had been certain that no five time champion was going to lose to some noisy upstart. Others were furious, grumbling to themselves about the various amounts they had placed on said upstart. 

     The upstart, a human by the name of Don Caldwell, had taken first for the past three races, but those might as well have been practice runs compared to now. Pre-season races may pay out their fair share, but it was the season races where the real money was. Thus far it wasn't looking well for Caldwell, who was barely managing to keep pace with veteran Owen Morton, yet another human. 

     Yet, even with the last lap ever approaching, it was clear that Caldwell hadn't given up the fight. His pod's engines groaned as he put what they had left into pushing forward. On the screens it was becoming obvious how much ground he was gaining in the process. The gamblers in the crowd exchanged emotion, those previously happy gaining a sense of dread, their companions doing quite the opposite.

     Zooming by to start the last lap, the two were seconds from being on equal terms. While Morton's face was obscured to the crowd, his motions were enough to show how horribly agitated he was getting. Brushing his pod up against his opponent's was much like watching an animal warn a potential predator. The message he was trying to send was clear and simple. Back off.

     But he wasn't backing off, not even a little. Some may call that bravery. Others would call it a moment of foolishness. Certain members of the crowd didn't care. Everyone who watched could see quite easily what was bound to happen. On the final stretch power began to shift to the upstart. First it was probably by a few meters at most, before it was the entire length of a pod. By the time the greenhorn had finished, the veteran was a good minute behind him. The crowd was in an uproar. 

     One had to give Caldwell some credit. He wasn't arrogant about his victory, going so far as to shake his opponents hand and smile. The arrogance would come later. The same couldn't be said of his opponent. Morton shook his hand, and even offered a smile, but one couldn't help but notice how such polite gestures were made so hostile. 

     It took nearly half an hour for the stands to begin clearing out. The local sponsors had awards to give, the Hutt in charge of everything wanted to speak, for the sake of hearing his own voice most likely, and the winner had to have his fifteen minutes of fame. It was closer to eight minutes by her count. 

     Finally Daeria found herself standing up with everyone else, her red eyes watching the filter out in droves. She remained standing in silence, watching them go, until her eyes fell upon someone who had appeared to have done the same. 

     The man in question stood on his own, a easy smile resting on his lips. He was human, not quite tan yet not quite pale, his brown hair somewhere between short and medium length. She recognized him immediately, if nothing else by the jacket he wore. 

     His eyes met her's, and they watched each other for a time. Some in their situation would have bolted, whether towards each other or away from each other. They didn't because they saw no point. They weren't star-crossed lovers desperate to see each other, and yet the man didn't fear the woman enough to simply bolt. It was likely that they were both here on business and really, what was the point in interrupting for the sake of some silly chase? 

     He gave a small smile before he left, and she squinted in return, trying to decipher it. Her eyes allowed a small amount of emotion to show through, confusion. Daeria shook her head, coming back to reality. She had a job to do, and she was going to do it. 

     Really it was more along the lines of preparing for a job. There was a target that needed scouted. Working her way down to the pits it became clear just how easy that would be. They were almost abandoned, with only the pit crews and a few idle fans lingering around hoping they would be able to manage an autograph. Off to her right she could make out Caldwell's designated area. 

     One in her profession might have been there to scout the younger racer, but she wasn't. Word had been going around for some time that Morton wanted him gone, but what Morton hadn't accounted for was the repercussions of such an action. The Hutt in charge of the series wasn't one to support such methods for winning. Healthy competition brought in more money. Had there been no competition between the two he would have been fine with a mark being placed on the younger racer. But there wasn't, and so it wasn't okay. The Hutt had began to see Morton as a rather large liability. So he needed to disappear. 

     Morton's pit was rather easy to spot. It was a large, tented area, remaining unburdened by the blazing sun. A crowd had gathered in front of it, and she kept her distance to observe them. Among them was a mixture of fans, reporters, and even an angry gambler or two. Collectively they were starting to get on her nerves. She simply needed to see the inside of the tented area, but now she was going to have to wait. Minutes, then nearly an hour passed before finally there was no one else to be seen. 

     There wasn't anything to write home about. That was her first thought. Most of the area was taken up by the pod, tools, and a number of cans of fluid for both. There was a small sitting area, but no sign of anyone meant to sit there. Security was either very lax or nonexistent when the racer wasn't present. A plan was slowly forming in her mind, though it would center around one fact. 

     From behind her she heard someone, a woman, give a small cough. Daeria turned, slowly eyeing the woman over. She didn't belong here, that was for certain. She was dressed in business attire, her skirt going just below her knees. Rattataki. An odd profession for one Daeria thought. Many were prone to more...Hands-on work, nothing this sensible. Pale eyes peered at the Chiss from behind a small set of glasses before she spoke, her voice firm and even, "Is there a reason you're in my client's tent?" 

     Daeria gave the agent another once over. This wasn't the person she'd noted during her research, not even close. That had been a sleezy looking human with a bad streak of racism to his name. Daeria allowed a small hint of surprise and worry into her voice, "Am I in the wrong spot? I thought this was the press tent." 

     The pale woman pressed her lips together, smirking to detract from the venom in her gaze. Fighting off the urge to laugh, she pointed to the east, kindly adding "The press tent is that way. You don't look like press." The hunter nodded sharply, making to leave but the pale woman blocked her path. "You. Don't. Look. Like. Press." Her voice took on a more threatening tone this time. 

     Daeria narrowed her eyes but kept her tone neutral despite the growing sense of antagonism she was feeling, "Press bodyguard. Idiot ran off without me." she shrugged her shoulders as if to say "What can you do?"

     The agent gave the hunter a knowing pat on the shoulder. Stepping to the side, she waved her hand towards the exit, frowning once Daeria was well out of sight. 

     Some might have hated having to work around this new obstacle, but Daeria was thrilled by it. As she meandered down the road back towards the town that sat near the track and it's contents, she was having to hold back a grin, despite the fact that no one would have even seen it what with her wearing a hood. She lived for such challenges. Without them she would simply get bored. Some would probably find the fact that one of her few sources of joy was in finding harder or more challenging ways to kill people, but such was the nature of her work. 

     For a time her thoughts distracted her, almost too much. It took her far longer than it normally would for her to pick up on the noise behind her. The constant crunch of a second set of footsteps. Stopping in her tracks, she did not turn but instead spoke, "I can hear you."

     Behind her a man gave a small, slightly nervous chuckle, before responding, "Figured you would." The voice was odd. It obviously wasn't native, and had a drawl to it that was always hard to pin down when it came to origins. Most associated it with spacers, or smugglers. She associated it with him, and for some reason it made her blood run cold. She could hear him swallow nervously, before he spoke again, "Hey darlin'."

     Daeria Malcom turned, the movement precise. For once she didn't know what to expect. He might have his blasted drawn, who knows? Instead, though, he had his thumbs tucked into his belt, his easy smile from earlier now taking on a more nervous appearance. Silence filled the air, the desert wind seeming to have died as to allow the moment to have some sign of peace. She ran through a number of things to say, and a number of ways to say them all, yet she could really only bring herself to address him in her usual monotonic style, "Redamous."

Heart of Ice

Heart of Ice

      The wind gave another horrible roar as the sun crept closer and closer to the horizon. Its light was cast on their backs and reflected in the ice in front of them, forcing them to shield their eyes just to see where they were going. At times it seemed like the sound of snow crunching underfoot was the only sign that they were making any progress into the frozen wasteland at all, much to the pair's dismay. One of them looked to the other, doing their best to speak through their layers of scarves, "You're lost!"


      The second turned slightly, continuing to trek forward as he did so. He regarded his companion for a moment, eyes squinting behind his goggles, before he replied, "What?" His reply was carried off into the wind, which was slowly beginning to pick up, dark clouds beginning to appear in the sky, even darker now that the sun was making its exit.


      "I said you're lost again!" the first said, cupping his hands over where his mouth would be, were it visible. Once his companion offered him the same reply as before he simply waved dismissively at him. The fact that they were lost didn't surprise him, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried about it. He didn't exactly like the idea of spending the night out in a snow storm.

      They continued on in silence, the first's ears straining for any sign of a noise. The second continued ahead, certain that he could find the safe house he had been told to use in times of emergency when he was stationed here. Of course the last time he had been there it had been during the day, and there hadn't been a snowstorm going on.

      It was night by now, and the first could only hope that would give them more time before whoever would be sent after them could catch up. There was a small part of him that kept hoping they wouldn't send anyone at all. They were just a few lower level infantry, why in the world would they need to send operatives or agents after them? But they wouldn't need to. They just had to put a number on their heads and the work would do itself.

       Off in the distance he swore he heard some animal let out a roar, though he did his best to ignore it. He was far too concerned with the fact that they might freeze to death, or be murdered by some hunter looking for quick pay. Adding on the fact that they could be some beast's midnight snack was too much.

      Some ways ahead of him he heard a shout. The wind died enough for a moment to allow him to hear the tail of what was said, but it was enough to make him burst into a sprint. “Found it.”

      It was a small place, and couldn't have been more than a few rooms consisting of a small kitchen, a living area, and a bunk room, but it was enough. He went off to turn on some generator, and soon enough it was starting to feel warm.

      Within a few hours, they had eaten, and were ready to settle in. Considering the number of bunks available in the room, they had a number of options but none of them would really be comfortable. The wind outside continued to roar, but really that was soothing to the first man. It meant that the storm was still going on, and that they would be harder to find because of it. What they would do come tomorrow was still a mystery, but he felt more confident now that he wasn't worried about freezing. Besides, if someone even came for them, they had raided what small armory the safe house had. They were prepared for it. What they weren't prepared for was the horrible noise that filled the air an hour or so after they had finally drifted off to sleep.

       The sound of the generator dying.

      Her red eyes scanned the horizon, squinting in the dying light. The storm was going to destroy any sign of their tracks. She was fully aware of that. It was a matter of deciding which way they were going to get lost in that mattered now. They would have attempted to stick to the road for a time, and she thought it best to do the same.

      Her armor was covered in a small layer of cloth made to help keep the heat it produced in when she was in weather such as this, and it happily was doing its job. Only the exposed part of her face was cold, and she found it hard to care about that. The fact that her people had been forged on a planet similar to Hoth, one of cold temperatures and ice storms, likely contributed to that fact.

      The road was deserted for all save her. Everyone else who would even have considered using it would be waiting until the weather cleared up. It was the smarter thing to do. When you're being hunted though, the smart option isn't always the best option. The storm would be the perfect cover for her prey, and they were obviously well aware of the fact.

      As with all of her hunts the days prior to this one had been spent doing her research. Two men, close friends, who had decided to cross their commanding officer and flee their post for a midnight run to see their girls instead of stand guard. Instead of face the charges, they just kept running. One had been previously stationed here, and he was likely returning to a place he could hide.

      Guessing where they would have gone based on known outposts in the area would have been useless. They would be avoiding those, not going near them. So where would they run? Somewhere unused, but not civilian area. If they tried to hide with civilians they risked being turned in for a quick cash grab. It had required digging, but she had been able to find a number of smaller outposts, safe houses in case something had gone wrong or someone was stuck out in a storm. There was only one in this direction.

      Why they ran of course didn't matter to her. The reason for such events never really bothered did. The only thing the information would do for her is tell her what sort of reaction she might get from them. She could only guess as to why they did it, though that was actually part of where she got her fun. Perhaps they wanted to live a life on the run, as they might think it to based on vids they had seen, or books they had read. Their records before the incident weren't exactly spotless, so fear could have drove them to it. Punishment in the Imperial Army was rarely light, especially on multiple offenses. If they were scared, they were more likely to make mistakes.

      She held no fear of getting lost. Having plugged the coordinates of the safe house into her armor would make it simple to find them. It wasn't going to be nearly as much fun as she hoped it would have been. They wouldn't put up much of a fight. They wouldn't even know she was coming. Who would be crazy enough to trek through a raging snowstorm for a simple two marks? Even with her hood up the disappointment she felt never appeared on her face.

      As she reached a point in the slowly disappearing road, she turned to her right and set off straight again. She gave it fifteen minutes until she was there.

      Off to her left she heard a roar. Turning, she expected the beast to come charging directly at her. She underestimated it. The creature slammed into her from the right side, settling on top of her and letting out a loud roar in her face. She made no move for her blaster, opting to simply shove her fist in its gut and let the flamethrower attached there do the rest.

      Rearing back the beast, she could see that it was a wampa now, kept its distance. The two stared off for a moment, before she quickly drew her blaster attempting to fire a shot off at it. As if it were an actor waiting for its cue, the wampa charged again, taking the shot to the shoulder but giving no sign it even felt it. It held her down again, this time making sure to keep her arms pinned. She had to give the species credit. Wampa were smarter than most.

      Jerking her head to the right, she brought her nose up under the small switch to the light mounted on her shoulder. Blinking to life, she pulled her shoulder forward as far as she could to shine it right in the monster's eyes. Its hands moved to defend itself from the horrible weapon, and it fled to a distance again, watching, waiting. Rising, she turned the light off. Her patience was wearing thin.

      She brought up her right arm slowly, bending her left but keeping it at her side. She let off another shot, which the beast deftly avoided. In doing so, it missed the blinking dart that had landed on its stomach. As it began to beep it looked down, searching for the new noise. It wasn't quick enough. She covered her eyes and turned as the explosive detonated.

      The safe house wasn't much to look at. A small building, likely five rooms maximum. She was hoping that the Imperials would have been smarter about how they built such things. She circled the building, giving it a look over. One entrance. Few windows, likely none that opened. If someone gave it an open assault it wouldn't last for long, but she knew that that wasn't its purpose. The worst offense, though, was that someone had decided it a bright idea to build it around the generator being outside. A simple pull of the plug and it would be a matter of waiting for them to come out on their own. Of course she wasn't going to wait for that.

      Inside she could see what few lights had been left on flicker off as she turned the machine off. Rounding her way to the door, she pried it open. Whoever had decided it best to let it remain locked into place after the power had gone off was an idiot. Entering the small living room, she flicked her light back on, willing to take the risk of being a target because of it. She wasn't really expecting a fight.

      Silently creeping deeper into the room, her eyes fell on a small door. To the side it was marked “Bunks.” From where she stood she could easily hear the two scurrying about trying to ready themselves in the now darkened room. Pressing her back to the left of the door, she waited for it to open. Shutting the light off, there was a long moment of silence.

      Finally she heard the door being pulled open. Blaster prepped, she only had to wait a few moments before one of them stepped out. A moment later he was lying on the floor, a nice sized puddle forming around his head. She turned suddenly, entering the room, blaster still drawn. The second one had let out a panicked scream, and scampered towards the back of the room. This was getting fun.

      The light was flicked back on. Slowly making her way along the rows of bunks, she stopped suddenly. One of the bunks to her right had let out a small cry. In one quick motion she bent down, grabbing the man by his foot and pulling him out to where she could see him, not without heavy resistance on his part.

      He flipped over, looking up at her with nothing but sheer terror showing on his face. Bringing his hands together she had to work hard to not smile. He was going to beg.

      “I'm sure you hear this a lot, but,” he tried to grab for the words, but simply left the sentence hanging alone, as if it finished itself. She stared unblinking at him. There no sign of emotion on her face, no sign that she would show remorse. He obviously didn't like that. “Say something. Please. Just say something,” he begged. She assumed there was some horrible feeling of being alone that was setting in. That wasn't unusual.

      When she spoke, her voice as a cold, unfeeling monotone, “Something."

      “This is just some sort of joke to you, isn't it?” he said, the last inch of hope disappearing from his voice. “Just another payday.”

      She shook her head, leaving him with one final statement, “It's never about the money.” With that said, she let off another shot, before allowing the room to grow silent, even the noise of the storm outside dying.

Man of Steel

Edited because for some reason I confused Christopher Reeves for Henry Cavill.

Warning. Possible minor spoilers.

My thoughts on Man of Steel, which I saw Sunday afternoon, are rather mixed as I look back. At the end of the day, it is enjoyable, but it doesn't really live up to the bar set by more recent superhero movies like the Nolan Batman trilogy. My argument to that is that those three movies in particular, especially The Dark Knight, would be rather hard to live up to. As with most things, it's best to take it on its own, and let it succeed and fail by its own merits.

Before we go into detail here, let me say this. I have not seen the Richard Donner movies, outside of a few clips here and there mainly with 2's Zod, I have avoided Superman 3 and 4 like the plague, and I have never been one for comic books. With that said, I think like most people I know the basic story of Superman. Alien baby raised by Earth parents who raise him as their own child, who it turns out has incredible powers and uses that as a way to constantly save the planet.

With that said, as someone who only knows the basics, I really did enjoy a few things they tossed in here. Krypton, Superman's homeworld, takes up the first bit of the movie, and I have to say that I really did enjoy the time spent here. I loved the style, especially of the technology, and I loved the story of it. We're made well aware that everyone knows that Krypton's time is limited, and we see a desperate attempt to save it. Russell Crowe plays the role of Jor-El, and going in this was one thing I was horribly doubting would work. While Crowe doesn't give an overabundance of emotion, like most would expect from Crowe, he does give a solid enough performance.

The rest follows the origins of Superman as he slowly tries to better understand who he is, and what his purpose could be. Instead of following him straight through childhood to adulthood, though, we're told his past through a series of disjoined flashbacks, which are my main complaint of the film. While the present day story is told in order, the flashbacks don't really follow any order. I suppose one could argue that they spring up when a situation that would link to them arises, but that doesn't make them much better. What's worse is that they all boil down to really reusing the same speech with different lines. Do they ruin the movie? Hardly. A few of them are rather good scenes, and the actors in them do a good job.

The present story moves fast enough. Looking back I realize just how little I can really go into it, as it's something that one might guess it to be. There's a bit of Clark Kent travelling, and as to avoid spoiling it even with me saying that you might be able to guess how it goes, followed by him taking up the mantel to stop his own people from invading the earth. Though I must say this, they manage to continue using Jor-El with good results.

This brings me to the character of General Zod. I think they actually make great use of Zod, and make him a better character than I would have thought. He, like most others in the movie sadly, isn't overly deep, but I found him to at least be relatable. His companions, though, aren't. The same can be said of other supporting characters. Those in the army? Bland. They even manage to make Lois Lane on the bland side. The more I think about it, the more I see that I can't really pull out any stand out characters. I suppose I enjoyed Henry Cavill as Superman, and I did enjoy Zod, and I even enjoyed Ma and Pa Kent, but they aren't overly deep.

Where the story isn't overly interesting though, the fight scenes more than make up for it. That really doesn't sound like a very good thing, but the fight scenes are simply great. Watching multiple superpowered beings duke it out and the amount of destruction involved is simply awesome. The effects hold up, too, a few moments during the initial flying scene aside. It does get a good mark in the visual category.

People will probably have to think about if the ending is great, pointless, or simply meh. I lean a bit more towards meh, as while I did like the idea of it, they never really do anything with it. I'm hoping that any sequels do make some use of it.

With all those thoughts disjointedly spread out through this post, I would like to say that while Man of Steel is enjoyable. It runs a bit long, but I never really even noticed except during the few slow parts. It continues at a good pace, it has great fight scenes, and the story in the middle? It's good enough to get by. For some? That won't be enough. For me? I enjoyed it, and I think that's what it's meant to be. Enjoyed. No one will be picking it apart, and examining it for the next year, but really that's perfectly fine.

Closed Doors(Part 1)

      “Honor sinks where commerce long prevails,” - Oliver Goldsmith

      Money, as it is said, is the root of all evils in our world today. It can be hard to put in perspective for you how true that really is. Then again, it's not even our 'world' anymore. First it changed to our 'system', and then to our set of systems, and now it might as well be our galaxy. But no matter how far out mankind can manage to expand, that one little thing will never change. A dollar sign is enough to drive some people to do amazing things. The dollar sign is of course an artifact left over from long ago. A universal currency was needed in the new age, and thus came the galactic credit.

      Nations, you may ask? Nations became things of the past. Eventually mankind simply became too far spread out for one governing body to handle. Ruling bodies simply vary on what system you're in. It could be some ancient royal family, harkening back to times when monarchy meant something. Or perhaps the local settlement is just made up of a bunch of people wanting to get by. Though the case with most was simple. Corporations.

      Imagine a second space race. A space race that turns from a race into a rush, and you'll have the rise of the galaxy we can see today. Once the technology was perfected, it was a simple matter of using it. Combine that with the fact that clever companies found uses for the rocks they managed to dig up on their little expeditions and you have the largest rush for one place in history. Eventually any legal restrictions just became too hard to enforce. Though it wasn't all bad. A number of careers opened up, ranging from mining, to colonizing, to researching, to shipping. Or smuggling, as it were, for some.

      A common thing in these days was corporate espionage and sabotage, as one used to some fiction will be familiar with. In turn, one such profession that rose from this was that revolved around the prevention, or recovery from such. Work could range from being horribly simple, to being horribly complex, and one never knew how far down a hole they would be forced to travel.

       Another car zoomed by the window, number thirty by his count. Lifting the cup up to his lips he grimaced slightly. He hated the coffee here. Another glance around the cafe confirmed his suspicions, he was still the only patron.

       There were worse places to be left waiting. At least it was clean here. The metal tables shone under the bright light from above. The windows offered a nice few of the skylanes, allowing one to easily see the traffic zooming from here to there. If you looked hard enough you could even see the ships coming in and out of the spaceport. Not that any of that mattered to him.

       What did matter to him was that his contact was late. Again. One look at his watch made him cringe. He had deadlines to be meeting, and he needed to be meeting them now. He shouldn't have to worry so much because Frank Coban could sleep in a few hours. Not that Frank ever gave a damn about how much Alan Everett was worrying.

      It wouldn't have been worth worrying about if it were someone else. Had he been looking for some small fry's lost piggy bank, or had he been trying to recover a few bank notes here and there, it wouldn't matter. But no. He was being paid to track down a very large sum of money for one of the most powerful men in the district, and the police certainly wouldn't notice it if Alan Everett simply ceased to exist. Frank Coban might, considering he would lose his main source of income, but that of course wasn't his concern at the moment.

      With a sigh he set his empty mug off to the side. He couldn't keep drinking it, not only because it tasted terrible, but because it was going to get him wired and drive him up the wall. The waitress poked her head out of the back room, giving him a look. Smiling politely he shook his head, implying that he didn't need serving.

      The bell over the door ringing caught his attention instantly. Pointing to the chair across from him, he directed his new guest into position, his glare seeming to be ignored based on Frank's wide smile. Alan hated him more and more every day, he swore.

      “Look who finally decided to show up,” Alan muttered darkly, his tone matching his gaze. He didn't even need to look for the fat hand holding out the folder he was expecting.

      As Alan tore it from Frank's grasp, the latter man laughed. Frank Coban was a decent sized man, short in stature, but making up for it in girth. He wasn't as large as some of the people Alan had had to work for, but he got closer every few months it seemed. His light hair was long, tied back, his face clean shaven, and his smile broad and shiny. “Better late than never, right?” he said, smirk showing in his voice.

      Alan silently flipped through the papers, frowning, “Yeah, maybe when it isn't your ass on the line.” Finally coming across the page he wanted, he frowned, “Umbecko?”

      “Umbecko,” Frank said flatly.

      Alan looked up, letting out a short laugh, though it wasn't a humorous one. “Are you trying to tell me that Randy Umbecko stole twenty five large from Lee.”

      Lee, that being his only name as he only had one, owned at least three quarters of the district. Randy Umbecko was lucky he owned a shirt, and some days of the week he couldn't even say that he owned that much. He was certain desperate enough to do such a thing.

      Frank shrugged, “You know he would do it if he could. You pay me to dig, Al. That's what I dug up. What more do you want from me, his god damn head on a silver platter?” The large man reached across the table, patting a fat finger against one column of numbers, “I got three instances of incoming numbers to his account.” The finger moved to a similar column on another sheet, “Those numbers match the numbers leaving Lee's account right there.”

      Alan nodded slowly, noting both items, “So how'd he do it?”

      Frank grinned, showing off his white smile, “That's the kicker, ain't it buddy? He didn't.” Reaching into his pocket he dug out another picture, sliding it over, “Random Lee Thug Number Seventy, though? He did.” Alan picked up the photo, looking it over. The man in it was hardly intimidating. He had the air of someone who wanted people to fear him, but was trying far too hard. “Swiped an account number or something, I can't tell you that one.”

      Alan nodded, rising quickly tucking all of the papers back into the folder, and folding back the collar on his overcoat, “Told you it was from the inside.”

      Frank waved a hand at him, “Yeah yeah yeah. Aren't you gonna buy me breakfast as a reward?”

      Alan gave him the finger as he headed towards the door, pulling his fedora off of the hook near it, “There's a pot of coffee you're welcome to.”

      The larger man grunted, watching his cohort leave, “You're gonna have to tell me why you wear that thing again at some point, Al. You look like you're trying too hard for the 'hard boiled detective' look sometimes.”

      Alan took his turn to grin, doing a one eighty, pushing the door to the cafe open with his back, “Look the part, Frank. You always need to look the part.” With a small tip of the hat, he was gone.

      The street wasn't crowded when Alan stepped outside, and that didn't bother him in the slightest. It was fairly clean, as was most of the district. If anyone actually knew the place's owner, that wouldn't surprise them in the slightest. Lee was a clean freak.

      His pace changed from a slow walk to a near sprint when he heard his watch beep. Why he had ever let Lee talk him into a timed contract was beyond him. Maybe he was just getting that desperate for pay.

      When he entered into the section of the district that he was looking for, he had to slow to avoid slamming straight into someone. As he drew closer to his destination his eyes settled on a certain building. It stood higher than the rest, but not by much. It was painted a bright white, the front of it almost entirely made of glass. Making his way through the revolving door he sped past the receptionist without even a tip of the hat. As he went by he managed to catch a sarcastic “Mister Lee will see you now Mister Everett.”

      His foot tapped rapidly as the elevator slowly rose higher and higher, soaring through the building, but of course not fast enough. When it finally opened it might as well have been the last exit off of a sinking cruise liner based on how fast its occupant left. Making his way across the long room, Alan slammed the file down on the large, dark wooden desk before him.

      The man behind the desk wore a bright white suit that matched the paint on his building. Grabbing the file earnestly, he began to flip through the pages within it, occasionally shooting a glance upwards at Alan over his glasses. After a few minutes had passed, he set it aside, “Very good, Alan.”

      Alan frowned, letting out another short laugh, “'Very good'?” When Lee gave him a look, he put his hands up defensively, “Fine, fine, very good it is.”

      The man in the suit swiveled in his chair, turning to a screen. After sliding through a few menus, he turned back, “You're paid. You're welcome to leave, Mister Everett.” The man standing opened his mouth to say something, but Lee held up a hand to stop him, “We're done here. You've been paid, the matter will be handled. I'm sure we'll work again soon.”

      With a grumble, Alan turned, tucking his hands into his pockets, and headed back across the large open office. Once he was safely in the elevator he grumbled to himself “Not if I get off of this rock you jackass.”

      Once he was back out on the street, Alan settled in on a nearby bench with a sigh. Bringing his hands out of his pockets, resting his head back against them, he surveyed his surroundings. The square in front of the tall white building wasn't overly impressive. A fountain lay in the middle, and along the outside of it there were a few smaller shops selling their odds and ends. Since it was still early in the morning the square was practically empty. People were working.

      Rising Alan silently slunk back to the cafe, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The door let out a familiar ring as he entered, noticing that Frank had yet to leave. He could easily hear why. Frank was sitting where he had left him, shoving food into his mouth in the loudest way possible.

      Taking the seat across from him, Alan smirked slightly, lacing his voice with sarcasm, “Frank, did you pay for your own food? Should I go call a doctor? Are you feeling alright?”

       Mouth still full, Frank laughed, shaking his head, “Oh har har. Look at Mister Funny Guy over here. You came back.”

      “I did.”

     “So I'm gonna guess all is well, Funny Guy?” Frank said, shoving another helping of bacon into his mouth, “Or should we start planning our big escape.”

      “I've been planning that for weeks, Frank,” Alan said bluntly, “Sooner I can leave the better.” Frank's raised eyebrow implied a question, which Alan took a stab at guessing, “I can't afford it.”

      That got another loud laugh out of him, “Amen to that brother. You seen how high they're shoving shuttle prices these days?”

      Alan frowned, taking his hat off and setting it to the side, “Can't say I have. I haven't had the time to look as of late.

      “Upwards of a grand. Probably looking closer to a one and a half.”

 

      A groan escaped from Alan as he flagged down the waitress to place an order, “That so.” He blinked a few times, looking Frank over, “And just why exactly are you looking?”

      Frank smirked, shrugging, “I want off of this rock just as much as you, buddy. Nothing more to it.” He pointed his fork at Alan accusingly, “Just what are you doing out here to begin with?”

      “I told you already,” Alan said flatly.

      “No, you gave me some BS answer about being on 'business'. Should I start thanking you in advance for being so specific?”

       His food arriving, Alan began to eat, only offering Frank Coban a small shrug, “It's my business.”

       The larger man rolled his eyes, “Fine fine, be all secretive. It'll get you all the ladies I'm sure. Maybe imply to 'em that you're a secret agent or something. What about our business?”

      Alan swallowed, shrugging, “Probably be getting about seven fifty a piece."

      Frank frowned, shaking his head, “Are you kidding me? I oughta just walk right into that smug face's office and deck him. Think?"

      “It's your life, not mine.”

      “Seriously, Al. He gave you what, twelve hours? That's small change pay,” Frank said, fork pointing again, “How's a guy supposed to get by on that, especially when they hike up prices on everything everyday?”

      “Why do you think I want to go home so badly?” Alan asked.

       “Oh, I just figured you missed your nice cozy office,” Frank said, smirking again, “Figured by now you'd have enough.”

       “Unforeseen financial issues,” Alan muttered. Noticing Frank's eyebrow again, he shrugged, “I had to pay for some stuff. Business, Frank. What about you? Why are you leaving?”

      “Seeing the signs, my friend,” Frank said, his voice doing its best to grow dark and ominous, “They start raising prices on stuff like that, means they want to keep people on-world. I don't like the feel of that. So, my relationship with the good old rock named Cerdala is coming to an end. Maybe I'll head your way.”

      “Oh wouldn't that be nice,” Alan muttered, finishing off his breakfast.

      Frank leaned back, resting his head against his hands, “So what's the plan now? Stow aboard a ship? Pickpocket a bit?”

      “Get another job.”

      
      “Get another job works.”

Cashing Out

((A possibly helpful link to help some visualize the character involved: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Chiss ))

Cashing Out

      Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't simply another moon floating around a more important planet. Many would actually argue the opposite. Nar Shaddaa, or as it was more commonly called the “Smuggler's Moon” or simply “the Moon” was much more than the cesspit of a planet it orbited. For many it was a stopping place, a hub of commerce with a dozen different jobs to be passed out to a dozen different people. Goods traveled in and out and, so long as the right Hutt was paid, nearly anything could be found there.

      Nar Shaddaa was a place of many rules, the first and foremost being that the Hutt's rules were the rules. But for the most part, the Hutt's held no firm rules. The entire planet might as well have been divided up into countless sections, all with varying leaders. One didn't have to worry about the law getting in their way, so long as one knew where a Hutt drew the line, and how far over they could step before invoking their wrath.

      To the eyes it was a mixture of dirty disgusting streets and bright neon. What few dark corners there were were indoors or back alleys off of the beaten path where the bright ever present neon refused to shed its light. Buildings stood tall and proud, corporations going about their work, factories pushing out their products, casinos making sure that their customers continued on with their addiction, and large apartment buildings whose tenants remained for the pure fact that they could not have their lifestyle anywhere else.

      The people of the moon were a variety of workers, smugglers, bounty hunters, mercenaries, body guards, dealers, and crime lords all inhabiting the same place. They likely crossed paths, their lines of work not needing to be muttered or vaguely hidden. Here it didn't matter. If you were a smuggler, you among many others without having to resort to claiming to 'haul freight' or 'ferry passengers'. If you were a spice dealer, you were out on the street, or hidden away lest you invoke the wrath of your rivals. It was a place where people went to be themselves, but also a place where people went to hide everything.

      Another unspoken rule of the moon was that if you were there, you were fair game. Of course as with all rules, there were exceptions, but unless you were someone important, it was extremely possible that your body could be hidden away and never found. This appealed to many, and appealed to no one all at the same time. It was a hunter's playground, and at the moment, that's just what she wanted.

      The casino floor below her was full of life. People rushing here and there, laughing, cheering, drinking. It was exactly how she had wanted it to be. Gamblers flocked to this casino all hoping that they would be one of the few to make it big, though the majority would slink back home having been the ones paying for the winners. Others sat at the bars, watching the local Huttball matches on screens, cheering or booing as they watched their credits fly from their pockets as bets were lost and won.

      Couples occasionally lead each other towards the elevators, and in turn their rooms, but that was the closest anyone ever got to her. She stood taller than some, hands along the railing, watching. She wore plated armor, her pack obviously equipped with rockets, or in other words your standard hunter's attire. Her face was hidden by a hood that left only her eyes and a bit of the skin around them open. One quick glance at her red eyes gave away the fact she was a Chiss, which was instantly confirmed by the blue skin.

      Up above she noted the time again, the hour ticking off as growing close to midnight. Pushing away from the railing she entered an elevator, tapping the button for the fortieth floor, ten floors from the top. The elevator didn't so much as groan as it slowly worked its way upward, a faint ding ringing out as it arrived at its destination.

      The hallway she exited out to was empty, though she knew the one that turned off to her left would not be. Instead it would have two people in it, guarding one of the rooms. The door to the room would have a number of locks on it, and was being constantly monitored by cameras at both ends of the hall along with one in front of it.

      Inside the room was what mattered, though. The prize lay inside, or rather, the target. Darryl Kincaid would be sound asleep in his bed, recovering slowly from the night's spice intake. She had the layout of the room memorized, taking into account a number of places where guards would likely be stationed.

      As she set off down the hall, she glanced down at her wrist, hitting a few buttons. From around the corner she heard a deep voice whispering, followed by another, both laced with concern, “What?”

      Voice two was quick to respond, “They're sayin' that the cameras flick-...Wait...No. No. Scratch that. We're all back up and runnin'.”

      One didn't sound overly convinced. In fact, he sounded rather worried, “The cameras what?

      Two tried to reassure him, offering a laugh to go with his words, “They flickered. Ya know. Just kinda clicked on and off. Nothin' big. We're all good now, so quit worryin'.”

      One grumbled out a response, “Quit worrying he says. Quit worrying when we're guarding the gangster spice head.”

      Rounding the corner she drew quickly firing a shot off into who she assumed was Two's skull. He never even found time to aim the blaster rifle in his hand. The large human started to slump forward. Rushing forward she pushed the falling body, sending it sprawling forward straight into One.

      He stared up at her in horror, his ear piece letting out a faint buzz. She plucked up Two's ear piece, resting it inside her hood, blaster focused on One's face. From the tiny device she heard another man's voice, screaming out in concern, “For the love of the kriffing stars tell me what the hell just happened, or so help me I'm gonna come up there and shoot the both of you.”

      She rested the blaster up closer to the side of his head, nodding toward his ear piece. Not once did her eyes ever blink in that short span of time. One gulped loudly, and he was starting to sweat when he spoke, “We got it covered. Some hunter trying to make their play. We're all set back up now.” She nodded her approval, spinning the blaster around and bringing the grip down on the side of her face.

      Pressing a few more buttons, she managed to catch over the ear piece, “Alright. Feeds back up. Watch better, will ya?”

      Her attention quickly turned to the lock on the door, hands reaching down to pluck a data spike and her datapad off of her belt. The first two locks on the door were keyed, with One and Two likely hving the keys, the third and fourth would be pushed through with the tools. The last was a keypad.

      Patting down the two guards she managed to find the keys she sought, palming them. It wouldn't shock her if the locks were monitored like everything else. She leaned in close, pulling the front of her hood down, letting out a deep breath against the keypad. She had to squint a bit, but she could just make out the three numbers that had been hit. From here it was a simple matter of deciding their order. First and last numbers were generally hit the hardest. She knew that much. Two must have had rather heavy fingers, she guessed, as she could easily make out where he had dragged his hands from number to number. The guessing game was done.

      Sliding the two data spikes into locks three and four she brought the datapad out, staring at the screen. Rapidly typing and sliding through numerous screens was an easy matter. With her left hand she reached up entering the keypad's code, but neglecting to hit enter. Sliding the keys to the first two locks up and into place, she heard a distinct click, which was followed by a beep from her datapad. A quick button press brought three and four open, and with a swift hit of the enter button the entire door slid open. She replaced the keys to their respective owners, slipping inside after her tools were away, and gently closed the door.

      The room wasn't much to speak of. A small walking area, a bathroom, a small thing that some might have considered a miniature living room, a kitchen area, and near the back what she had identified as the bedroom. The living room held a great view of the city beyond. From where she stood she couldn't make out anyone else standing in the room, though she didn't need to see them to hear them. Someone was up and about getting at midnight snack and making quite the ruckus in the process.

      Slinking along, held tightly against the wall, she poked her head out. The large man in the kitchen wasn't the mark. With a precise motion he drew her blaster, and rounded the corner much like she had earlier, though this time she only gave him a second glance to confirm that he did indeed have a new hole in his head. She didn't even stop walking until she got to the bedroom door. Pressing her ear against it, she heard no motion, no sound, nothing.

      Silently she opened it, and slipped inside. The mark was passed out on the bed, the night's spice likely still fresh in him. She shouldn't have known anything more than his name. As she always told her clients they were allowed to tell her as much or as little information as they wanted. If it wasn't her place to more she was more than accepting of that. Of course that never stopped her from finding out anyway. She almost had to at times just to hunt properly. One could not account for another's possible moves and actions if they didn't know enough about the other person. Darryl Kincaid, she had learned, had been a Hutt's top enforcers. That was a year ago. Flash forward three months from that and Kincaid has gone undercover in a small gang in an attempt to learn who exactly was funding them. Two months after that, he's hooked on spice, but it's not a problem. A month later and he's pulled out by the Hutt, who's starting to find the spy games are far too expensive. Three months later and Kincaid has lapsed almost entirely to addiction, though he's somehow managing to keep his position. And in the present he's being protected by another Hutt's men because he's ready to turn tail and drop a million secrets so long as his addiction is fed. Pathetic as it was, she wasn't surprised. That was how Nar Shaddaa worked.

      She gave the bed a quick boot, sending him jolting up. His head jerked lazily around while his eyes tried to grow accustomed to their surroundings again. When they fell on her, he started laughing like a mad man. “It's a...Bit late for this...Isn't it?” he asked, words coming out slow and slurred. He flung his hands up in the air, “You know what? I'm not gonna complain.” He patted the bed, “Come on! Get on my boat...”

      Her eyes left him as she slowly stepped forward, picking him up by the shoulders. He simply cheered, “Heeeey! I'm f-flying...Whee...” She tossed him towards the window which cracked with his weight. He never even acknowledged the pain. As she walked closer to him she fired off a few shots on the window. It was made to withstand blaster fire, which one might find odd if they weren't accustomed to the ways of Nar Shaddaa, but in the end it broke. In one quick motion she reached down, grabbing him by the leg and shoulder and tossed him out the window. As he exited the building he was still cheering. There was a crunch as he landed against something metal, likely some car flying by, which was confirmed by the screams of terror that followed.

      Serd'aeri'asai gave the room one last look over. The job was done. As soon as the Hutt had managed to hear about it, she'd find more credits in her account than the last one. Serd'aeri'asai, or Daeria as those who would never be able to pronounce her maiden name would call her, walked slowly over to the window. Folding her hands behind her back she allowed herself a nice look over the city. Daeria Malcolm was well aware that somewhere out there was a hunter who was far better than herself, but the thought never bothered her. She was efficient, deadly, precise, and effective.

      Without a word, she hadn't spoken all night, she leaned forward, arms spreading wide. She savored the free fall for a few moments before she let her pack kick in, flying silently off into the eternally bright night.