Professional Courtesy

~AN: Another Priire story! This one is actually StarMoon ( http://starmoon.freeservers.com ) cannon, although it was edited down for the list. The PG-13 is due to exsessive violence. For the record—this is pre-Episode I. The prsice setting changes each time there is a time break. The first section is about 5 years before the second section. The third section is around the time of the first, and so on. Nom/The Mechanic is copyrighted to the Gnome. Priire/The Hawkbat is copyrighted to me.~

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"Nom! Nom Da'Gara! Get your black leather butt down here!" Seijoutai Priire shouted for the third time.

"I do not understand the necessity of shouting so indecorously when one can utilize the intercom," Nom Da'Gara said, frowning.

Priire shrugged, lifting the leather jacket that cloaked her shoulders. "I felt like it."

Nom frowned. "I still do not…"

"You don't need to understand," Priire smiled sweetly. "Hand me that knife."

The warrior picked up the knife. It was a throwing knife—beautifully decorated. Nom frowned for a moment before she handed the knife to Priire. The tall warrior had always wondered…she slipped the elegant knife into Priire's gloved hand. "Thanks," the blonde said with a grin. Priire bent down and slid the knife into her boot. "Anything else?" she asked, as she straightened and tucked her hands into the pockets of her black leather coat.

"No. Where are we going?" Nom questioned as the pair strode away from the Jedi Temple. The Dathomirian's cape flutter in the slight Coruscant winds as she walked.

Priire shrugged. "There's a dingy little place a few levels down. It looks really disreputable on the outside, but the inside's even worse."

To most people, that would have been a good reason to stay away form the cantina. No one could, however, accuse Priire or Nom of being most people. The pair had a tendency toward seeking out such establishments for the mere purpose of beginning brawls.

It was a long walk through the slums of Coruscant. Any being not bristling with teeth, claws, or weapons was usually assaulted and robbed if not worse. Something in the powerful movements of the Dathomiran warrior and her ex-mercenary companion kept even the bravest souls away. Their walk was a learned one, suggesting each woman was in full possession of her surroundings if not in full control of the companion she walked with. No one messed with them.

"Hey! No droids!" the young barkeep yelled as Priire and Nom crossed the threshold. An alarm had gone to warn him of the presence of the unwanted machines.

With a lazy movement echoed by her companion, Priire turned her green eyes on the man. The look in them coupled with the half smile on her face suggested a careless power akin to an unstable thermal detonator. Nom's black eyes threatened to pull the man into their deadly infinity with their space-black depths.

The boy gulped and hid behind a large customer.

"So," Priire said as she propped her black boot feet up on the table. "Have you heard about…" She didn't get any farther into her sentence before she was interrupted.

"You laaaadies driiinkin' aloooone?"

Priire raised an eyebrow. "Yes. We are. And we'll stay that way." A tight almost-smile tickled her lips as she saw Nom reach under the table.

The offending man took no heed of Priire's statements. "Miiiind if Iiiii join yooou?"

"We do not wish to share your company," Nom told him, flatly. "Leave, or we will be forced to remove you from our table."

"Coooome on, laaaaadies," the man slurred. "Let meeee buy yooou ooone."

After seeming to consider it for a moment, Priire shook her head. "I don't think so."

The man snarled. "Whaaaat's wrooong? Dooon't liiike meeen?"

Priire glanced at Nom. "Now's he's getting on my nerves."

"Agreed," Nom said. "I believe that we should dispose of him so that we may continue with our conversation."

Both women stood. They seemed a powerfully imposing pair, each tall and clothed almost entirely in black. The power was not an illusion. Nom grasped the man's shirt and jerked him out of his seat. "You will leave," she commanded, her eyes boiling over with threats.

"Or we'll make you." The threat in Priire's voice was implied in such a way that it sounded as if she'd rather he stay so she could make him leave.

The man ripped himself free of Nom's grasp. A knife appeared in his hand, making him snarl at the two. "Whaaat are yooou goooonna doooo noooow?"

Priire smiled coldly. "This."

The barest scrape of metal against leather was heard as a blaster seemed to materialize in Priire's hand. Matching her smooth movements was the warrior witch beside her. Not even a word was necessary for their plan. It was as if it had all been done before.

Nom's blaster fired a split second before Priire's let lose its deadly bolt.

Before now, the confrontation had garnered little notice from the other patrons of the bar. Now that blood had been drawn, everyone turned his or her eyes to the scene.

One blaster bolt had been aimed artfully, destroying the man's knife. The other had hit a rather flammable container of liquor so that it burst into nova-hot flames. Screams poured forth from the man's mouth as he beat at the flames engulfing his left side. Priire let her carelessly dangerous green eyes fall on him. Her face turned up in a half-sneer as she inclined her head to the door where a bucket of water sat.

The mercenary and the smuggler regained their table just in time to be accosted by another male. This one leaned close as if he was afraid of being overheard. "I know who you are," he whispered. "Or who you're trying to be."

"Pardon?" Priire asked, in the same soft tone. "Just who do you think we're trying to be?"

"Them," the man said, trying to hold back the fear that usually permeated the voices of beings who spoke their names. "The Mechanic. And her friend. The Hawkbat."

The blaster that Nom had been fingering suddenly found itself pressed hard against the man's temple. He tensed and sighed. "Look…"

Priire held up her hands. "I'm not sure how much you know about outlaws, but some of them just don't get along. Like the" Priire lowered her voice "Black Sidhe and the Red Haze. The Mechanic was Black Sidhe, and the Hawkbat was Red Haze. The two organizations did not get along. They didn't even pretend."

Emotionless, Nom took over. "The Mechanic has no friends. Neither does the Hawkbat. I would suggest that you are mistaken."

"Gimme a break!" the man said, trying not to move as Nom's finger tightened on the trigger. "I saw them. They were sitting in a bar just like this, sharing a drink."

The Dathomirian shook her head. "No. Mercenaries and smugglers have associates, not friends. You were mistaken." Nom's eyes flashed as she glared at the man.

In a matter of microseconds, Priire flattened herself against the table and kicked her chair out from under herself. She heard the retort of Nom's blaster and kept moving. While the three had been talking, others from the cantina had come up behind them. Priire's foot whipped out and tipped a man. As he fell, she loosed her blaster from its holster and let the deadly energy fly. The falling man wouldn't get up again. Not with the gaping and oozing hole she'd put in his chest.

Priire lifted herself off the floor and fired her blaster several more times. One of the men who had been raising a chair to hit Nom fell without use of his left arm. The stump that was left dangling from his shoulder gushed with deep red blood. Priire shook her head. She didn't envy the cleanup crew.

Another blaster bolt sizzled into being beside her. Priire shot a glare at Nom. The warrior witch didn't seem fazed as she raised an eyebrow. The blonde rolled her eyes and swung her blaster backwards, listening to the sharp crack as it connected with some being's head. More blood spilt onto the floor.

Swiping a black gloved hand across her chin, Priire removed some of the blood that had splashed on her.

"I think we have availed ourselves of all the opportunities in this cantina," Nom said as she slide her blaster back into its holster. "I believe that we should vacate the premises before officials of the law become numerous."

Priire surveyed the scene one last time before stepping through the door after Nom.

"Out of curiosity," Priire said when she and her companion were out of the slums. "Where did you get that scar on your forehead?"

The look in Nom's eyes told Priire that the blonde should know very well where the warrior had gotten that particular scar. "Where" Nom asked in a strange sort of reply, "did you receive yours?"

Priire resisted the impulse to touch the scar she knew was on her forehead. Nom's question was more than enough answer.

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