Sing a Smuggler's Shanty (Open)

[Loki Ahmrah]

It was the fifth cantina he had visited that day. Two levels below the Coruscant upper levels, here one can walk amongst the scum without the threat of being mugged or murdered by them. Loki had spent the last two days moving from bar to bar, in civillian disguise, carrying posters. He was tired and fancied a drink, so after having word with the bartender of The Nabooian Queen, he nailed his poster to the notice board and took a seat at the bar.

"I'll have a Bellorian Ale, please." He said, leaning forward, hands clasped.

"You'll have nothin' until you get rid of that hood, mystery man." The bartender replied, running a cloth around the inside of a large glass.

"Apologies." Loki pulled back his hood and watched the grubby man, his eyes narrowed and for a moment he stared at the youngster.

"Heh!" He threw the cloth over his bulging shoulder and put the glass down. "You're a young one, especially for these parts. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt but I don't got any Bellorian stuff. Blue Ale?"

"Yeah, that will do."

"So-" He began pouring Loki's drink, it was milky blue and had a thick creamy head of foam. "What sort of job are you offering on that poster of your's? It's quite er... secretive."

"I'm just looking for a good pilot who has time to kill."

"Ha! C'mon bucko! Are you kidding me?" The large glass of ale hit the bar with a thud. The bartender held out his open hand; huge rough palms, hairy knuckles.

"You and I both know that there's no such thing as a good pilot down here! Ha-ha! C'mon, what are you after?"

"A quiet drink." Loki gave the bartender a reprimanding stare, dropped a couple of credits in his hand, stood and headed over to the table below his poster. He took a seat and looked up. It read:

Wanted: An able pilot with ship for a week's work. Handsome pay.

[Arya Ravenwing]

She didn't sip her dark ale, she chugged it. Business with Dan the Mystery Man kept her out of drinking establishments far too often. After the last job, with the woman, Arya was nursing a black eye and hadn't seen or heard from Dan in a week. Give or take three days.

"Hey - what's this in the trash, Belinda?" Arya bellied over the bar to grab what had caught her eye, stretching out to snatch the crumpled poster out of the garbage. Someone smacked her butt as she was dangling over the bar, but as she sat back onto her stool there was no one in sight who looked guilty. The smuggler harrumphed grumpily, and started smoothing out the torn paper as the girl behind the bar walked over.

A pretty blonde with streaks of unnatural colors in her hair, Belinda was good with drinks and other things. The Lucky Eldaarian was not owned by an Eldaarian, although then the name would have at least made sense. Madame Ovarie ran the bar and her girls with a tight fisted hand. She was firm, but tended to the romantic, and liked to powder her face white and place large brown moles on her cheeks. The look might have been better, had she not been an overweight Twi'lek matron. Romanticism was rare in her profession, to say the least.

Ovarie had once told Arya that she'd gotten her name from a book, although the smuggler suspected that she'd gotten the name wrong. None of this ran through her head as she read the poster with Belinda wiping out a glass on the other side of the bar.

"An able pilot with ship for a week's work, and handsome pay?" Arya looked up and Belinda shrugged. "Who brought this here?"

The glass went down, and the girl refilled Arya's Guinness. "He just left. Han'some fellow, young, though." The full glass was set in front of Arya, and Belinda automatically went to taking care of the other patrons, who were all male, as she answered Arya's question. "He didn't stay long, just put up this lil' sign and sat down over there," pointing, "'an had a drink."

Arya crumpled up the poster again, and when it was a compact ball, she lobbed it to Belinda, who caught it deftly. "Do you know where he went?"

"One of the gals asked him his pleasure, an' he colored up all pink and nearly choked on his drink. He's very young Arya, not your type." Belinda returned to stand in front of the smuggler, dropping the paper ball into the garbage behind the bar. Arya opened her mouth to protest her designs on the man, and then Belinda winked. "Just kidding, of course. I think he was heading to another bar. He told the girl that he's been going from bar to bar for two days. She said he had a trace of Chandrila on his tongue. But, Amee's crazy about accents."

One of the 'waitresses' heard that, and must of been Amee, because there erupted a good-natured argument about which had the worst weaknesses. Arya stood up in the middle of it, and pushed some credits towards Belinda.

"Thanks for the drinks Bel, it's been an experience." Arya straightened her nerfhide jacket over her shoulder holster.

Belinda shooed Amee away, and grinned. "You know, Madame has said you're such a good patron you could have one for free. If you like."

Arya laughed at that. "What, me with my scars and my black eye? I wouldn't want you girls to run crying in fear once you saw me." The smuggler turned to go, and then turned back to the bar and grabbed her glass, draining it. Now she was ready to leave.

Pushing her way through the rowdy group that would only get rowdier as the night went on, Arya nearly broke a man's arm when he groped her. She twisted his hand around and pushed it up near his face, turning her black eye towards him. "Do you think I look like one of Ovaries girls?" Her face was not ugly, even with the puffy eye, but he stammered no, and apologies followed her out of the establishment.

She stopped at the very next bar, The Nabooian Queen, and ducked inside. It only took a glance to see the young man sitting against the wall under a matching poster to the one she'd recovered from The Lucky Eldaarian's garbage. She beelined it to the bar.

"Ale, dark." She looked at the huge man, and amended, "Please."

"Any preference? We don't carry anything fancy." He leaned his hairy knuckles on the bartop.

She stared at them for a moment, and then looked back up at his face. "Just the darkest, thickest ale you have. I don't want to be able to drink it, I want to chew it. An' then I'm going over there so can you tell me anything about that kid?"

The bartender raised an immense eyebrow as he poured the ale. "Him? Nothing to tell, he just came in. Said he's looking for a 'good pilot.'" He chuckled, a deep rumble from his chest that Arya imagined was shaking the bar. Maybe she'd had too much to drink already. She looked at her hand for a minute, fascinated by her fingernails. Mostly because she barely had any. That green-eyed woman and her man friend had really worked her over.

The smuggler bent her fingers warily, watching the scabs on her broken knuckles stretching. She couldn't remember why she hadn't visited a bacta facility. Something about the Sovereignty owning the bacta supply, and prices were up.

The bartender cleared his throat, and act that demanded her immediate attention. It got it. Arya looked at him intently through her open eye. He gestured with an open hand at the glass in front of her. "You're paying now." It wasn't a question.

Arya pretended to grump, and dug in her pants for a credit chit. Slapping it on the bar, she took the ale, and took a deep drink from it. Truly, horrible ale. She thought it wasn't so much thick as chunky. Nevertheless, she took it over with her to the young man's table, and plunked herself down across from him.

[Loki Ahmrah]

Loki had been huddled forward, leaning against the table with one hand wrapped around his glass and the other cradling his chin. He was staring intently into the glass, the froth had disolved inside yet it was still half full. He had decided he would retire for the night once he'd finished his drink.

When Arya planted herself into the seat, Loki snapped upright in his chair. His wide-eyed stare melted into a look of confusion. He pulled his glass closer, confusion turning into curiosity.

"Hey." He cleared his throat.

"Can I help you?"

[Arya Ravenwing]

The ale had sloshed out over her hand when she'd sat down, and she picked up a rare napkin and busily wiped it off. "Can you help me? No, no, the question you should be asking is how I can help you."

He still was regarding her with a mildly curious face, so she jabbed her thumb in the direction of the notice board. "You need a pilot?"

[Loki Ahmrah]

"A pilot!" He blurted with relief, his experience with the women of The Lucky Eldaarian moments before had not gone forgotten. He regarded the woman with intrigue, she was pretty for a pilot.

"Yes, I'm after a pilot." Loki settled, leaning back comfortably, he brought the glass to his lips and looked across to the woman. "A good pilot."

He took a full swig of ale, sighed and placed his drink back on the table. Slouched in his chair, he clasped his hands on his stomach and released a belch, just as he had practised.

"Alright! What experience you got, lady?"

Beneath the table, his foot tapped nervously against the chair.

[Arya Ravenwing]

She regarded him through her one good eye, and blinked a bit at the belch. Not something she'd expected. "I've been doing the Kessel Run since you were in diapers, and I've outrun Cizerack patrols. Not to say," she hazarded, "that I needed to, but you know how unfriendly the Pride is."

Arya wasn't one for sipping, but she cautiously put the mug of ale to her lips once more. Just as bad as she remembered. The smuggler set the drink down and determinedly removed her hands from it. "Anyways, I'm between piloting jobs, so where d'ya need to go?"

[Loki Ahmrah]

"Dathomir." He answered.

"Someone who can outrun Cizerack patrols has my attention. What ship do you fly, missy?"

[Anbira Hicchoru]

Outside the bar, a homely-looking man found temporary refuge from the cold and biting wind of the lower levels. He crouched in the relative shelter of an alcove near the doorway, drawing his tattered coat tightly around him. He had a grizzled demeanor to him, and his full and unkempt beard contributed to it. However, he was not who he appeared to be.

Ignored by the passers-by on the street, the vagrant chewed a mouthful of zansanar root, and tried to keep warm.

[Arya Ravenwing]

"It's a Chevvette77 freighter. Room in the hold, although it's not set up for passengers." She fingered her puffy black eye as she squinted at him. "But... I could probably squeeze you in the main cabin area. Dathomir, huh?"

She found herself slightly amused at what she guessed was false bravado coming off this young man. He called me 'missy?'

[Loki Ahmrah]

"That's right, Dathomir."

Taking on a more secretive approach, Loki leaned in close, his elbow on the table. He gave a quick glance to everywhere but Arya then met her bruised eye with a look of urgency.

"Look, whatever we do has to be kept quiet. I can give you a small percentage of your pay now and the rest will be presented to you in full once the job is done. And believe me, your pocket book will love you if you take the job on. What do you say?"

[Arya Ravenwing]

She had to resist openly grinning at his glancing about. Checking to see if anyone was listening was a sure fire way to get people who weren't paying attention to your conversation to try to listen in. Unfortunately, the ales she'd consumed tricked her and she grinned anyway.

Arya leaned in as well, and half-whispered, "Well, I need to know amounts before I say yes. Just how much will my pocket book love me?" She could use some extra cash - all she'd earned working for Dan had gone to fixing the huge hole in her cockpit that the Cizerack fighter-grappler had punched in it. Hey, she'd outrun most of the fighters.

[Loki Ahmrah]

"How much?" Loki repeated, he scratched what little stubble he had on his chin.

"Easily one-point-two. This depends, of course, on the condition of the cargo we will be bringing back with us from Dathomir. You... don't mind there being a little hush-hush transport involved, do you?"

He smiled. "You did say you had room in the hold, after all."

[Arya Ravenwing]

She sat back. One-point-two? As he mentioned bringing something back from Dathomir, she held up one cautionary finger. "If you want me to transport a rancor back to be your pet, you'll have to give me more up front. My hold isn't strong enough to hold one of those. Other than that - let's just say hush-hush transport is one of my specialties."

[Loki Ahmrah]

"I'm glad to hear it. The cargo will be easy enough to store and transport."

Loki took a moment to swallow back more ale, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and looked at Arya. His foot started tapping nervously again.

"Look, I'll be blunt, I can't offer you a great deal of credits up front. No more than twenty thousand, in fact. I know this is a small amount in comparison to the stated pay but that is why failure is not an option on this mission. And there's one more thing-"

Loki paused, steeling his nerves and relaxing his face. He looked at Arya with the uttermost seriousness.

"Are you capable of handling yourself... in combat?"

[Arya Ravenwing]

Even twenty thousand seemed worth it to get away from Dan for a week. Arya's good eye twinkled with alchohol-induced good humor, and she lounged against her chair. "My face aside, I could put you over my knee and give you a good spanking if I wanted to."

Arya, probably not what you want to say to prospective clients. "Ah, that is, yes. I've taken out two Cizerack who wanted to end my life, and if you know anything about those hairless cats, you'd know that's not easy."

[Loki Ahmrah]

"Cizerack, eh?" Loki said. A distinctive pink glow had been in his cheeks ever since Arya's spanking reference. He took the glass in his hand once more, his knuckles were white.

"Heck, you must be pretty tough."

A few long gulps of ale followed, all the while, his eyes flittered here and there. Looking at nothing in particular. When he planted his glass down at last, he stared at the table for a moment, drumming his fingers against the wood. An awkward silence followed.

"Erm-" He looked up and cleared his throat. "Ahem! So, how long will you need to get ready?"

[Arya Ravenwing]

Arya nodded in agreement of his assessment. Yeah, I am tough. She joined him in swigging back ale, and licked some errant foam off her lips as he posed his final question. "How soon can I be ready? Well, how quickly can you get me those twenty-thousand credits? All my stuff's in my ship, and we can go right now."

She drained the last of her ale, and looked regretfully at the empty tankard, wondering if she had time for another. Her stomach rumbled ominously, and she decided that she'd probably had enough.

[Loki Ahmrah]

"I can grab those credits and be back within twenty minutes." He answered, happy to be talking business. His seat slid back with a dull scraping and he stood.

"Right! I'll meet you back at your ship." He gave Arya a nod and turned, took two steps and stopped. He turned and faced Arya once more.

"Where abouts is your ship?"

[Arya Ravenwing]

"Ah! My ship is at ... well it isn't far really. Walking distance." Arya pointed up. "Docking pad 349, Coco District." Pushing away from the table also, she got to her feet. "Twenny minutes then."

The smuggler took two steps forward, and then her ankles and legs slid to the side and she staggered, catching herself on the nearest object, which happened to be her young employer. She clutched at his shirt for balance, and righted herself. "Right, twenty minutes then at pad 493." She didn't seem to notice the discrepency in her numbers, and made it to the door under her own power.

Once outside the Nabooian Queen, Arya leaned against the wall, letting the artificial stone seep it's coolness into her cheek.

[Loki Ahmrah]

He watched her stagger outside and frowned. His chronometer beeped and he checked the time, it was 3:40am. Somehow, wearing a hooded cloak felt unnatural in a place such as the Nabooian Queen so he waited until he was in the dripping doorway before pulling the thick cloth over his head.

He turned away from Arya, she didn't seem to be aware of him or the rain rolling down her face and through her hair. It was a cold night. The pavement made a dull thud under his heavy boots as he walked away. Then he hesitated and following a moments silence, he winced a defeated sigh and turned reluctantly to the drunk woman.

"Cocoa District, you say?"

He threw her arm around his shoulders and wrapped his around her waist then pulled her away from the wall.

"I think I know the fastest route but if I'm wrong, correct me."