Arthcaso brought himself from the dizzying noises of the cityscape blaring behind him, with swoops zooming past the downtrodden pathways screaming not even a level below him as the portal to the cantina slid open and the dark lights and booming beats of the band enveloped him utterly into the room. The establishment, who's name never amounted to any real form of importance to the man, was filled to the brim by any lifeform that one could imagine. Bith, human, twi'lek, rodian, and a pattering of other various unknowns in the mind of Arthcaso. He was used to metropolitan fair, it reminded him of his bountiful homeworld, the capital of the Core. He had seemed less busy places hold a much more varied clientele than even this establishment. His eyes began to adjust to the dark hues of the room, the lights overhead, emplaced nearly at every five feet, bathed the room in a hue of deep blue. More of a mood lighting than something to properly help you understand your whereabouts. Waiters and waitresses of every stripe and creed walked the pathways expertly though, with a ingrained knowledge of their workplace, passing drinks of nearly as varied colors and consistencies to the clients that were sat in booths and tables all throughout the building. The room seemed to be divided into roughly two sections, one of them uplifted from the mainfloor, simply a step upwards. It was nearly twelve feet in length and stretched to the far back of the establishment, and lengthwise against the wall there were booths set with faux-lanterns hanging overhead. Those sat there had plates nearly as rule. The section of the cantina simply a step below was instead littered with randomly placed chairs generally paired with plain tables. The lighting was only given by the overhead lights, and speakers pumped the pre-recorded audiotracks throughout the section. Near what would roughly be the center of that section was a circular bar, much smaller than most, with a twinned pair of rodians shifting back and forth, taking orders and slinging drinks to one another, adding ingredients, slinging them back, before they found their ways into the hands of the customers that had ordered them. If you had tos go anywhere in Axxila, this would be the place.
He slipped his hands into the front facing pockets of his ebon-bomber's jacket, and started a stoll. The establishment was filled to the brim, busier than most times he had stopped in, but not the busiest he had ever seen. It was lively, with nearly all of the tables filled by different peoples and species, each of them having conversations or losing themselves to the drink. Several times Arthcaso had to squeeze by something much taller and wider than him, many times a great deal more fur or scales than himself, meanwhile others he would have to watch his step as he was careful not to misplace himself and accidentally crush and an Offworld Jawa or a Chadra-Fan, or a dozen other races that barely made it up to the knee of the human. However, despite the absolute sea of creation that he was left to during his trek, it would be nearly impossible to miss the people that he was searching for, but time and time again, he had been proven wrong on sure thoughts. His eyes combed through the crowd as he parted his way through where he could, gently tapping the shoulders of some to get through, to let them know he was simply passing.
Then, it happened, he stumbled, something had caught his foot, but he was far from sure what it was, and his shoulder caught against something much larger than him as he found his footing again after a couple of off kilter steps forward, boots scraping off of the plated ground before he turned on his heel on the final tumble. He spun with a finger held up from his hand, as if he was going to instantly burst into a pattering of apologies to whoever it may have been that he had recently disheveled. Instead of it being literally anything else less quick to anger, Arthcaso found himself looking up into beady-blank eyes. A reptilian face, a color similar to that of a Yellow Star in shuttering scales, and a red tongue flicking out against the Trandoshian's nose, once, twice, three times. The Trandoshian was clad, head to toe, in what accounted to be the standard fair for their race. A fine bandolier, crafted out of some form of hide, blurrg if Arthcaso had to guess, with several blaster pistols layered where the powercells would traditionally call home, with each of them being a different make and model, some illegally modified and some not. A slapped together, seemingly spot welded, chestpiece of plasteel sat directly underneath that. The reptilian had no sleeves to his outfit, instead letting the burley and built muscles attempt to crack out from under his draconian hide. The pants that the Trando wore were similar to most, they were a highly uncreative garmate, besides the fact that the Trando's seemed to be homespun, made from a patchwork of different cloths from different origins. Across it's lovely collection of blaster pistols, however, was a viscous fluid, a bright orange, with a few precious drops sitting in the glass cup that the Trando held in a clawed right hand. Another tongue flick.
"You ruined my trophies, human." The voice was far from pleasant, though Trandoshians rarely were pleasant. Arthcaso equivalated it to the cries of the Legendary Tirra'Taka, mimicking the tales that his father had told him. He often wondered if the stories were simply based off of early Trandoshian raids, and the early cultures inability to process it well enough. That wasn't the issue at hand, and he was brought back to reality by the sound of the glass in the Trando's hand steadily cracking, before a flourish of glass exploded from his grip, causing Arthcaso to bring his hands up to cover his face as he took a brief step back. The sound giving his heart a brief second start.
"I'm sure I can cover the cost," Arthcaso said as he gestured to the handblasters with an open hand, his left settling on his hip, edging to a holster. "What's it, at best, a thousand New Imperial?"
"The tools are unique, the hunts where I gained them are unable to be bought, my honor is the price, jetar madle."
Another step, and the Trandoshan brought the still glass shard laden hand forward and wrapped it around Arthcaso's throat. A brief murmur came from his lips as he brought his right hand instinctively up to grab at the lizard's grip, however, he fully knew even in his panic that it would do little good. The glass remnants popped and dug into his skin and flesh as the Trando shifted his grip around, scales scratching. Arthcaso could tell that they were drawing blood, as instantly after the grip felt much more slick as it rawed his neck. He was lifted then, high into the air, his legs kicking underneath him, unable to reach the Trandoshian. There was a crowd gathered now, displays like this were common, regarded as part of the atmosphere. The Trandoshan sat at nearly seven feet to Arthcaso's just barely not-six, and he stood at lifted nearly three feet off the ground.
"Now," Arthcaso could barely speak with the iron-grip around his flesh.
"I'm sure I can find you a nice, defenseless Wookie family to murder, refugees fit your idea of honor?" It was at this point the grip tightened, lessening his ability to speak even more, causing him to change his tone and approach.
"Misunderstanding. I Arthcaso. You?"
The Trandoshian only offered up a steady statement in Dosh, something that Arthcaso couldn't understand even if he had all of the blood required going to his brain. The lights and booming music of the environment were starting to go out. He should have pulled his blaster by now, but his grip was fading, fast, and his fingers were numb. Tapping against the leather and his belt, not registering what he felt to the rest of him. His sight started to vinette, closing in, his head had lulled back by now and he was closing in on a single light above. His vision giving way to nothing but the neon-blues of the lighting.
Then, suddenly, his fights for air became much easier, though the grip was still on his neck, he managed to swallow down small gulps of air, taking it into his lungs deep as he brought his head back, it clunking around barely in his control. At this point, he minded the carbine barrel that was pointed at an angle from the floor dead at the Trando's face. Those beady eyes locked just beyond the barrel, to it's owner. Barely able to fight his eyes to glance in that direction, a familiar helmet sat behind the scoped blaster. The simple horizontal line visor built into a frame of amethyst purple plate, with a breath mask built directly underneath the eyes. The body language was the most telling, the stillness, the finger resting on the trigger, not twitching, simply waiting for any excuse. It was hard to tell if the figure was even breathing.
"Kesmerr?" Arthcaso managed to gurgle out.
"Drop the prey, 'doshan." It was a simple command, blurted out in Basic, something unbefitting the Ubese saying it.
The gentle hum of the carbine accentuated the point. Arthcaso suddenly reached down, using what remained of his newfound strength to dig the holdout blaster from it's holster at his side before wrenching it up, awkwardly rolling it in his grip for a moment as his arm stuck straight out into the face of the Trando, fiddling with the pistol before suddenly a hum came from it and Arthcaso fixed his grip, the dual-barrels finally aligning at the Trando.
"Drop me." Arthcaso requested, the threat lessened by the state of his throat, much less by his dangling legs and shaking grip.
The Trandoshan's eyes danced between the human in his grip and the Ubese to his left, on one hand, he could snap the neck of the human on a whim, lunge at the Ubese, odds were in his favor that he could tank the carbine blast, but that was a gamble. There was always the issue that the human may have more friends than just the Ubese, and the reptilian's eyes began to mechanically take count of the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. There was no honor to being treated like prey by unseen forces, there was no honor to be within the sights of an unstated hunter. Besides, there was always the promise of the future, of more.
"This isn't over, lowe Arthcaso. I will have my honor." The claw released, and Arthcaso fell down to the floor, chest first, bouncing on the club's floor before starting to cough furiously.
His entire body heaving with the effort of drawing in new takes of air as the Trandoshan simply turned and began to walk away. Arthcaso looked up from the floor as he held his stomach, teary eyes blurring through the lights as he watched the crowd part for the reptile, the door sliding open, burning the aesthetic with light. He could swear that the eyes burned back at him for a moment before he was overtaken by another coughing fit, the door shutting, and slowly, the background noise of the cantina returning to normal. People going back to their drinks now that the moment of excitement had passed.
Finally letting his lungs come back to terms that they were free, Arthcaso went to his knees, picking his holdout blaster from the floor, brushing it off with his hand, before returning it to it's home. He brought a tough up and felt his neck, pinpoints of blood and scratches of crimson, roughed up, similar in texture to a rope burn, if the rope was barbed wire and the burn was glass. His eyes settled skyward, blinking to refocus themselves as the silhouette of Kesmerr solidified into reality. Six foot three, but to Arthcaso he appeared as a giant currently, clad head to toe in sections of plasteel and other blaster bolt resistant materials. The armor, through and through, kept a curved design, with rounded shoulders and a broad chest, seemingly intended to deflect blaster bolts into odd directions instead of absorbing them completely. All of the plate shaded the same color of purple, with a cloak settling just behind all of this, a simple black sheet acting as a hooded cape, nearly reaching down to the boots of the man. Arthcaso held out a hand to the Ubese, letting his right sit on his hip in a form of support. He sat like that for quite some time, the helmet betraying no emotion, but the inaction speaking as loud as a scream.
"Fine, fine…" Arthcaso's normally regally graced voice, seeming to have a proper home in a feudal throne, now was cracked and rough. Scratching against his throat.
He brought himself up slowly, standing like a wounded newborn Gallaze, several steps nearly misplaced, before three more quick ones found his footing as he straightened to a stand. Arthcaso fretted with his slicked back hair moments after he recentered himself.
"That was reckless." Kesmerr said, his voice scrambled electronically through the helmet. Sounding much more like a droid as he began to walk off, the flury of the twilight cape clearing a generous path through the reforming throughourfair of the bar. Steps parting through and ducking past just as Arthcaso had been when he came in.
"I had it under control. I was talking him down. Didn't want to waste the cells on him." Came the defense.
"You were seconds to death."
"Acting, acting, pure and simple."
"This isn't community holodramas anymore, Arthcaso. That attitude will get you killed."
"He wouldn't have wasted me in there! Barkeep would've kicked him out. Didn't need to draw the blaster, either. Spooked some folk with that."
The Ubese didn't reply, simply leading Arthcaso through the dizzying hoard of sentients, swimming their way through the sea of flesh. While every step that Arthcaso took was hesitant, curious, and laden with apologizes as he squeezes his way past, Kesmerr moved much more like a shade, uncaring for those he may be disturbing, and making sure footing on the path he wished to take.
"You sure this is where the client wanted to meet?"
Instead of speaking, Kesmerr simply nodded his head in the direction they were traveling. In the far distance, in the lonlinest corner of the room, there was a shriveled form, holding close to itself. It's hands were folded in front of it, and even from this distance, Arthcaso could tell that it held endlessly more age in every wrinkle on it's hairless head than anyone had the proper right to guess. The crowds thinned as they arrived closer, nearly nonexistent once they were within earshot of the booth the old human sat at. Despite not looking up at them to confirm that they were there, the man simply waved over in their general direction, causing both Arthcaso and Kesmerr to look at one another, with Arthcaso simply offering a shrug and starting his way over to the old man, Kesmerr in close trail.
"Sit, sit! I'll have some drinks on the way if you intend to be long, or if not, then not, whatever you'd prefer, sonnies." The old man called, his voice giving just as much credence to his age as one would expect. It was informal as his attire was, suggesting years of backliving, moisture farming or animal handling, however, that hardly fit the description that they were given when they were linked to this client. There was the promise of an organized operation, and a large payout.
"You are Mister Kesth, I take it?" Arthcaso asked as he brought himself into the booth across from the old man, looking up to Kesmerr and patting the seat next to him, which the Ubese took, the springs groaning under the weight of his armor.
"Some people call me that, yes." Mister Kesth responded, his words seeming distant, not exactly directed at the group in front of him.
It was at this point that Arthcaso could finally make out what made the man so peculiar, his eyes were glazed over, milky white through and through. More than seemingly blindness, it's something Arthcaso had seen before, it reminded him far too much of the death-stare of a corpse. He didn't have to note his observation to Kesmerr, he was certain that the Ubese had seen it before he had. The Ubese, as a rule, stayed silent during diplomatic chats like this.
"You're the Organizer we've been told about?"
"If you're talking about the little event I'm hosting on Rhen Var, then yes, but I don't do personal parties. You'll have to find someone else for that."
A glance went between Arthcaso and Kesmerr again.
"We weren't given many details, what all do we nee-"
"Mining colony set up shop on the planet some time ago, one part mining colony, let me correct myself, they had a healthy dose of illegal smuggling to the Hutts and Black Sun. Old Jedi artifacts. Snow storm came raging in, drove the lot of them out, at least those that were able to make it to their crafts in time. Rumor has it lots froze then and there. But, company done and went abandoned the project. Left everything. Kept all of this very hush-hush. Well, friends of friends are good to have, leaks are nice things when they help you, not so much for the other guy. You two, and a couple other groups I've rounded up, are going to head off to Rhen Var. Pick up what they left, heard they cracked into some cave or temple or tomb or something old and dusty of that nature days before the storm came in. Crate whatever you find up, ship it back to the quardnates I'll have sent to you, and you'll find a mighty fine check of 50,000 New Imperial Credits sitting in your accounts. Oh- and of course- to make sure that you don't make off with anything too important, a few of my personal associates will be there to keep tabs."
"Who would these be?"
"Couple droids, nothing to fret about, as long as you do what I ask, everything comes up even."
"What do you want with Jedi crafts? Dead culture, dead people, forgotten worlds." Kesmerr surprisingly spoke up.
"Ah, of course you would wonder that, my Ubese friend. What I want with these nicknacks is my own, if I wish to sell them I will, keep them I will. Unless your grudge against a centuries long dead group of Space Witches is going to keep you from your paycheck?" Those dead eyes settled on Kesmerr as Kesth spoke.
Kesmerr looked over to Arthcaso, and brought his hands up in front him, making several quick gestures, dancing his fingers between one another and drawing shapes in the air. Speaking without speaking, proper Ubeninal.
"I don't like this." He signed.
"50,000, my man." Arthcaso signed back in much less practiced Ubeninal.
"Could pay a debt, fetch a ship."
"Exactly. Now you're thinking. We go there, get this done, and then we forget it ever happened. Burn fuel till we see stars."
"Fine."
A smile crossed over Arthcaso's face as he turned to the blind man once more, returning to Basic.
"When do we leave?"