Sorry this update was so long in coming. Been a BUSY week!
Chapter 2
"I'll have some Corellian Ale, please." The bartender looked at the young man in amusement. "Ya think you can stomach it, kid?" The 'kid' glanced up sharply. "If you would rather, I can take my business elsewhere." The bartender felt a grin creep on his face. "Say kid, what kind of accent is that? Sounds kind of 'latty-da'." The young man, whose name was Fidel, locked his gaze with the bartender's. "For your information, my accent is native to the planet Xenox (FYI- A French accent). Oh, and I remember saying something about an ale?" Scowling, the bartender set down a glass of Corellian brew. "That'll be 15 credits." Fidel nodded his thanks before tossing a credit chip on the counter. He'd been on the run ever since he could remember. He didn't know from whom, but as far as he was concerned, it didn't matter. His freedom was at stake. And he knew he would go crazy if that was taken away from him. Finishing his ale, he stood up and walked out of the cantina. Time to go off-planet. Again.
The kid was good; even he had to admit it. Even thought he'd only been in his trade for a few years, Boba Fett was already considered as one of the best bounty hunters in galaxy. Stepping inconspicuously (As inconspicuously as a Mandalorian can be) into a cantina, Boba silently made his way to the bar. Other than a noticeable lowering of conversation and people diving to get out of his way, no one acted any differently than before he had entered. Signaling to the barkeeper to give him service, Boba slowly sat down on a bar stool. "W-What can I do for you, Sir?" Boba looked at the barkeeper with something relative to disgust. "Have you seen this person?" he asked handing a picture of Masdon over the quaking man. The barkeeper studied the picture for a minute or so before Boba saw recognition wash over his face. "Yeah, yeah. This guy was in here a few hours ago. Thought he was a real hotshot too." Boba inclined his head by way of thanks, before tossing the 'keeper 30 credits. Almost there.
"That'll be 100 credits, Son."
"Thank you." For once, Fidel was thankful that he had manners. People were usually nice to you if you were nice to them. Usually. But that didn't mean he trusted them, not by a long shot. Bringing his mind back to the present, he surveyed his new purchases critically. He had bought himself some clothes only out of severe need. The ones he'd had were almost threadbare. The thing he was most pleased with were the black, knee-high boots, made out of imitation nerf-hide. The black pants went with the boots, as did his dark brown shirt. He'd had to search hard for the thing he needed most, though. A vest, to conceal his two blasters. Thankfully, he'd found a black one for a semi-reasonable price. Grinning in satisfaction, Fidel stepped out into the roasting heat of Tatooine. Before going anywhere, however, he surveyed his surroundings carefully. Bounty Hunters routinely tried to capture him. A sudden movement to his right caught his eye. He barely had time to react when the four large men came barreling at him on swoops. With reflexes honed by years of practice, Fidel spun around and dove inside the store he had just walked out of. Speaking of the devil.. Not taking the time to see if they had followed, he took off down the dusty street, looking frantically fora certain shop. Finally, he saw it, just 5 meters in front of him. Behind him he could hear the whine of the thugs' swoops as they tried to navigate the sharp switchback. It wouldn't be long before they found him. Entering the shop, Fidel cautiously looked around the dimly lit interior. Finding who he correctly assumed to be the proprietor, he headed over to him. "Y'anna buy a speeder, swoop, or hyperdrive? Y'annem , we gottem." Fidel almost grinned when he heard the wizened old man's sales pitch. "Ah, yes I'd like to buy the fastest swoop you have here." The old man squinted at Fidel critically. "I dun't think ya could handle it." Fidel felt his metaphorical hackles rise at this statement, and in response squared his shoulders. Well,he usually used his manners... "I can handle a lot of things people don't think I can." He retorted hotly. "Aight, aight, don't get to fussin' like a bratty slave, I was just remarkin'. Ya look like yur in a hurry."
"Very perceptive of you, Sir" Fidel growled, his pride still smarting at the old man's remark. "Aight, in that case," here the old proprietor punched in a code to a closet in the back of his shop before continuing, "Here are the keys and that'll be 5,000 credits." While Fidel dug in his pocket hoping that he had enough to pay for the swoop, the proprietor put a helmet and goggles down on the swoop. "Oh and yung man, these things come with the swoop." Fidel looked at him gratefully before handing him the credits. "Here you go Sir and thank you very much!" With that, Fidel hurriedly slapped on the helmet and goggles before backing the sleek machine out of the shop and into the street. Then he accelerated quickly, knowing that the swoop jocks wouldn't be far behind.