Log:HUNT: Tiro Fajji

HUNT: Tiro Fajji

OOC Date: March 17, 2020
Location: Ko Hentota: Undercity
Participants: Tarion Tavers, Siha Archer, Zhu Yan, Sar Yavok, Sapphira, Vandred, Vena, Jacali, and Evie Leven

"Yeah, so, here's the deal," Tarion tells the group as he leads the way down deeper into the Undercity. On all sides, as far as the eye can see, are piles of trash and old buildings with piles of trash piled against them. This is called the Undercity for a reason; it's the city underneath the city, that stretches down towards the planet's surface, the aging structures now serving as pillars for the current 'liveable' sections of the Smuggler's Moon. Down here, everything is rundown, running down, or ready to run further down.

"So, yeah, the deal," the bounty hunter repeats, his grey boots slopping through a puddle as he heads towards a sort of archway formed by a fallen building that now bridges the weathered street, trailing moss and powerlines hanging down out of the smashed windows like a bead curtain. "We're looking for a fella by the name of Tiro Fajji, got a bounty on his head. Did a lot of bad stuff, like... like uh..." Tarion pulls out a datapad and squints at it for a moment. "Jaywalking, and litter, and uh... oh, triple homicide. I can't kriffing stand jaywalkers. Like, I'm trying to drive, here, and you step out in front of me? Next time I'm not swerving, let's just put it that way," he complains, using the barrel of his rifle to part the moss "curtain" and continue down the street.

"My intel says he's somewhere in this general area," he explains further, gesturing vaguely at the city block ahead, dark and wet here far below the upper levels. "So good luck! I'll split the money between you, with my fee for doing all the hard work subtracted, obviously. I gotta see a man about a speeder. It'll be easy, though, you got this." He gives them all a bright grin, and then abruptly exits stage right, slipping through a doorway into one of the rickety old skyscrapers that line the street and disappearing. They'll be fine!

"I forgot how annoying he was." Siha murmurs to the group at large once Tarion steps on out, t-visor scanning around the area after she steps past that mossy curtain that probably harbors about twenty diseases, if not more, on it's lush extensions, "He'll probably swoop in at the last minute to claim the kill, too." Dryly stated from within the recesses of her helmet, sword kept at her right hip, blaster to her left, hands kept free and clear in the event something falls atop them, or she falls through something, injury curtailed with one thoughtful move.

"Be careful, the skies are liable to fall on you just as much as the ground will fall out from under you .." Warned as she continues on forwards, eyeing the readout her helmet gives her.

"So, building by building?" Asked of the group as she twists around on her feet to face them all, hands coming up to expand arms in a gesture to either side, a piece of moss curtain splurching off from her right forearm to splatter on a large piece of building side nearby.

Everybody wearing armour and here's Zhu Yan in his fluffy bomber jacket with his handgun the size of a small estate. He was dramatically underdressed because Sapphira had told him to show up and probably said 'nah it'd be fine' or Yan wasn't listening (this is what happened) and now here he was ready for being shot. Well, he could talk too because he wasn't threatening nor terrifying but yes, prone to fracking dying again.

At least he had meatshields.

"I... did he just leave?" Yan asked no one in particular. He hadn't been listening to, well, any of it, too busy avoiding puddles and playing with his hair. "He just left. Wasn't he supposed to be showing us where this food place was?" He looked left, right, left again. Nope. No Tarion. "Wait are we here hunting someone?! What the frack!" Yes, Yan. The reality was now dawning on him and his expression became one of outrage. "Dude! I was told there would be food!" Yan was not told at any point there would be food.

Limping along with the rest of the group is Sar Yavok, a hand pressed against his side as he walks. Arena combat takes it's toll, okay? "Jaywalking puts more than just yourself in danger," Sar says, echoing Tarion's sentiment. A trickle of blood can be seen running from his gloved hand after he pulls it away from his wound. He grunts.

"It'd take too much time," Sar says, looking over at Siha. "Not a lot of foot traffic down here, and enough debris to pick up a trail. We find one, chances are it belongs to him," he advises.

Does anyone know why Vena is here? Probably not. Vena probably doesn't know why she was here. But the tall, old Chiss is standing arond the rest of the group that's gathered to take down this man that's known for...JAYWALKING. How dare he. But there's also the murdering and the littering. So someone has to get this guy off the streets. There's a chubby and angry looking reek cat that is hanging out on the Chiss' shoulder as they listen to Tarion. Oh, he got scraped off the pod racing course, this was good news! She sets off with the others, "Yes, he just left." she tells Zhu with a nod.

Did the light play a trick across the street as that moss curtain was withdrawn? Did someone whisper something from that too-narrow space between two tenament fronts? No, surely not. Surely the first steps into the way are clear.

And then? Then there's a Sapphira, dressed in her second-skin of a shadowsuit, standing behind Yan. "Do you even read your memos? I send them with big, bold subject lines to your inbox and everything. You're a terrible leader," she informs her boss.

"That sounds good to me! Look, Jacali - adventure. Didn't I tell you we'd have another adventure?"

Vandred's chipper, happy tone comes out from behind his helmet, a little bit clipped as it's coming from a microphone. His boots splash through water, and other liquid substances that are best not brought to mind as they trek deeper into the Undercity. His head lifts and pans, letting the visor and aug. reality system do it's work as it begins highlighting and documenting. He almost walks into someone as his head keeps panning, before he comes to a complete stop.

He doesn't seem to comment on Tarion just up and abandoning them. Instead, he gives a little giggle as he brings his E-11 up, removing the powercell and inspecting it before placing it back in. Lifting the weapon up, he pans it away from the group, letting his eyes track until the aug. system produces the crosshair to make aiming - and life - easier.

This does nothing for Jacali however, who looks rather disdainfully at Vandred - maybe he stood in something. Or maybe he's just got the natural gifted ability to bring out the dourness as he keeps promising 'adventure', when in fact he means, 'lets go down into the slums and even deeper and probably have to apply first aid to me when I get horribly shot. Again.' She tuts as she produces her blaster pistol, checking the ammo in it.

Clad in armours that make her unrecognizable even to those that have met her before, Jacali is dutifully following along, listening to the details of this 'mission' she's found herself on. What she's doing here is anybody's guess, but the woman is quiet and offputting to most, her pace even and steady in that military stride. Blackened plates of armour dot her form, lined in esoteric scrawled bordering of bronzium alloy, and following along behind her is a BB in the same theme, not so much as a chirp offered by it.

When Tarion stops and expresses the fact that he'll not be going onward with them, her head gives a slow turn to offer a featureless glaring. At her shoulders, to pronged limbs loom over her, giving a subtle twitch like some dying insect was draped over her like some fancy stole. She says nothing, head tilting as Siha pipes up, before it then turns toward Sar to listen to his bit. "Be on your guard." She finally speaks, voice distorted by whatever she has going on inside that helmet of hers, her attentions directed at Vandred, the man that arrived with her. "My supplies are as limited as my patience, and I won't be wasting them in result of your reckless stupidity." Tell us how you really feel.

Her attentions slide back to Sar Yavok and his unstable state, eyes narrowing beyond the golden lenses of her mask, shallow breath exhaled in a sigh as one gloved hand moves for her medpac, lifting it in assistance of her assessment of the man's state. Didn't even ask for permission.

The look is far different since the last time she ran into Tarion. Then, her outfits were far more casual, Now? She's clad in heavy blue armor from head to toe which makes her current affiliation very clear -- even if she is the smallest of the Mandalorians in attendance. However, the easy way she walks, that voice? It's all the same.

<< "We'll take care of business, Candyman." >> Evie replies, pulling one of the blasters she wears out of its holster and bringing it to bear. Ready and waiting for the opportunity to use it.... she's pretty sure that she's going to need to, afterall. The familiar faces in the group get polite nods, and Yan's comment even elicits a laugh from the pilot after she confirms that, yes, Tarion has left the area. << "Yup. Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy... but I get the feeling if he stayed, he'd be more likely to be in the way." >>

Call it a hunch. The kind she got a hint of from watching that last pod race.

Maybe they have new outfits, maybe he's known them for years, Tarion's reaction to all of them is the same: a glib smile and vanishing when they needed him most. Typical.

The city block is dark, dank, covered in the slow oozing waste and debris of the city above that has slowly crept down along the walls and coated most every surface. Grease, blood, acid rain, sewage, it's all down here and mingling together to form one biofilm to rule them all. The smell is unpleasant, but also strangely addictive, like the BO of a lover that one actually finds themselves wanting to sniff a second time.

All at once, a head appears from one of the windows above them. It's Tarion. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. He's armed and dangerous and known to rent local muscle anywhere he goes, so yeah, look out for that!" Then he vanishes again.

The block ahead is largely 'standard' in configuration, stretching out straight away from the group. In the near distance, another fallen building can be perceived to block the path in that direction, and there are two streets splitting off away from the main thoroughfare, one more well-lit and mostly clear of debris while the other looks darker and smells fouler, partially obstructed by what must have been a hell of a traffic collision.

"Oh come on, Sar. You can barely walk, the excerise would do you a world of good. Stretch out those wounds." Siha is blessed by a helmet, like the others no doubt, that filters out such stanky environs, which likely puts her at both an advantage and disadvantedge as she can't sniff out the bounty they're on. Walking forwards she'll drop down into a crouch, left knee slanting down to kneel into the grungy pathway they're on, gaze scanning a moment.

"Yeah ...I'm seeing ..." Right hand extends out to gently brush gloved fingertips in against some trash, woman rising up suddenly and striding off two meters to the right where she drops down again to the same knee, clearing out cans, some old box lids, soft grunt echoing from within her helmet, "Tarion!" Called out, but when she tilts her head to look up at where that tiny little pinhead /was/, she sees he is now gone.

"Of course ..Guys ..come here." Said, the group, like, right there, or nearby enough that she doesn't really have to call them over. Joints crinkle and crack as she stands up, a few more steps taken forwards as she kicks more garbage out of the way, hands coming to her hips, "I see someone was walking here recently - can you see." She waves Sar over, since she knows him best and not at all best, "Impressions in the shavit, new, heading that way." Hand lifts and points at the foul and partially obstructed pathway littered with wrecked vehicles, "It would stand to reason he would go where it would be harder to be tracked." A heavy sigh, Siha already moving to pick her way in the direction of the dank street, "I would do this, it's awful." A nod. She is.

"Do you know how many of your memos are about seafood?" Was Yan catastrophising here? Answer subject to peer review. He was certainly upset that he'd been walked hand-in-hand into a Tavers-Pattern Deathtrap. Yan POKED Sapphira in the COLLARBONE. "Seafood! 'Oh can we go to Mon Calamari?!'" he asked in a weedy falsetto, "that's you by the way, yeah sure, seafood for days WHEN we get out of this slimehole! Is that Tavers?" Yan looked up at the window, his face twisted into some sort of constipated expression. With only a grunt of grumpiness he waved his hand in dismissal and turned back to the group, angry and about to start complaining again, until a metaphorical lightbulb went off in his noggin and his expression became one of sudden brutal enlightenment.

"I've just had a very clever idea!" he exclaimed, having ACTUALLY paid attention. "Okay so, as the only one here who doesn't look like a beefcake murderer," sorry Evie, "I'm going to pretend to be the boss and offer those muscleheads an absurd amount of money to join up. All lies, I'm good at lies," That's all your good at, Yan, "so don't take it personally unless you're him." He pointed at Sar. "Then if-slash-when they turn on the guy we shoot them all in the back. 'Kay? 'Kay." Sharp nod. God he talks a lot.

"Cut it out," Sar offers back to Jacali, as she assails him with a scanner. "I just tore a stitch. I'll live," he says, visor hovering on the woman's face for a moment before he turns back to the task at hand.

Free hand resting on his blaster grip, Sar takes a moment to squat down next to the tracks that Siha's pointed out before he looks off towards the pathway she's gesturing to. "Makes sense. Less desirable environs than...the rest of this charming place," he says, grunting as he stands up. "Stench is probably coming from festering standing water, or something akin. Not a bad resource to have around, if you've got the means to boil it." He looks to Yan and holds back the urge to whack him upside the head. Just barely.

Vena's keeping an eye out on things. The Chiss quiet as she moves and trying to see where things might be hiding. This place was a dump, not fit for the living...and probably not for anything freshly dead either. The Emperor ends up ducking into the hood of her jacket that she wears over the armor, hissing at anything that gets too close, "Shut up, Palpatine." she mutters to the reek cat.

"Hey! Watch it, Fatty-Fingers." It's kind of like Thunder Thighs, except Sapphira is scolding Yan for his pokes. She rubs her collarbone area. "It's not my fault that all you stock is engine-oil-made booze and ... nothing. Feed your people, and there won't be reason for anymore memos." As Yan decides to give orders, or whatever passes for giving orders when it comes to Zhu Yan, Sapphria shrugs. Still no weapon drawn, but her slippered feet begin to move forward as she stays fairly close along the wall of the shuttered up, falling down hovels down here. "Sure, fine, whatever. Just be aware..." her voice trails off as the Chiss, Vena, creeps past her, muttering. "Uh ... just be aware," she says, nodding her head to a doorway some ways down the shadowy street that, to most, looks like every other open, dark doorway.

Boots splashing as he continues walking through muck and all without much of a care - none of a care, to be honest - his head pans to Zhu, and his voice comes through the headset - happy, all the while. "Oh, Jacali's not a beefcake murderer. She's an attractive female of her species!" Yes, Vandred. You know all talking about the females of varying species and their general attractiveness.

His head pans, before he lets his eyes roam. Pause. Blink click. Focus. Pause. Blink image into upper left pane of screen. Blink click. His smile grows. His foot raises as he pushes over a sign, and then his eyes track as his vision mode shifts between normal and nightvision. <Compensating. Please wait. . .>

A crisp overlay helps pick out the details in the dark, and he shifts to the side to stand up against the wrecked, burnt-out building he was walking to. His voice comes through the comms again. "Look. What a nice building. The Itchy Knickers. I wonder what that means?" He queries, before he leans over towards one of the grates that sit over the windows. His lips purse behind his helmet, and he settles against the wall beside the grate in contemplation.

There are soft noises that come from the medpac as Jacali continues to manipulate some thing or another, reading over the vitals, chin lifting just slightly like she was looking at him from beneath that bowed brow. Though it cannot be seen, rest assured the judgment is there. For several long moments, that 'stare' is held after his initial words, which have apparently fallen on deaf ears. There's a slowly inhaled breath that wheezes through some filter, little more than a soft, prolonged hissing.

She's not buying the 'stitch' explanation, and it's clear.

"It appears that you are injured." Her voice is devoid of humanity -- a canned quality to it, some distorted pitch at the periphery of every word, just enough to sound 'wrong' to the ear. "In your current state, you could be a detriment. Allow me to see to your wounds."

Even as she's speaking to Sar, or more appropriately 'at' Sar, her head jerks toward the direction where Tarion made his appearance, flicking from window to window, head tilting to one side as keen, alien eyes seem to have caught sight of something. "... Mmm..." She finally lets the breath she's been holding out in a contemplative noise, the medical tool in her hand slowly lowering as she stares toward nothing, like when you're watching a scary movie and nobody else is in the house, but your dog is starin' really hard and growling at -something-.

Whatever anyone else is doing seems secondary to her now, "I say," Old chap, "I don't believe we're alone." Those dead-spidery lookin' legs that've been hanging over her shoulders curl downward as a seeker droid pulls itself upward from its dormant state against her back, vibrant red 'eye' sparking to life as her hand lifts to point a clawed finger toward ... nothing. "I am certain I saw something," She expresses to her loyal companion, Vandred, without actually approaching him.

Maybe she's just paranoid.

It's about then that she notices what Vandred is doing, and her head actually turns to look toward him. "... I can be both. They are not mutual... ly--I'm sorry, the Itchy Knickers?"

There's a snapping upwards of Evie's helmet -- and blaster -- as Evie hears a sound from above, preparing as if she's ready to face off with an enemy, and only relaxing when she identifies the face as a familiar one. << "Right, I'll keep that in mind." >>

Siha's call for people to come over is responded to by Evie.... doing exactly that. The lady in blue leaning to the side in order to better see what's being pointed out. << "Good eyes, I'm glad you caught that." >> Evie points out. As for Yan's comment? << "...aww, you said I looked like a murderer. That's sweet, Yan. It's not a bad idea at all, I'd be on board." >> ...it just means she'll have to keep her mouth shut. Which definitely won't be the easiest thing for /her,/ of all people.

...maybe if she gets distracted by things like that positively /adorable/ family of Mynocks flying off in the distance it won't be /quite/ so hard. Eiter way, after that moment of distraction she moves into position to flank Yan, doing her best to look like hired muscle. Technically, she is. The helmet helps, too. << "If you're /not/ at your finest, chum, I'd recommend letting her," >> Thanks, Vandred! That was a good tip! << "get you closer to it. >>

The Itchy Knickers, in its prime, was a cornerstone of Ko Hentota daily life, a pillar of the community that now serves as an actual pillar for the community that has superceded it. Now, it's a broken-down wreck, a literal dump filled with trash, muck, and unfriendly critters that feed off of the trash and muck and each other.

With the party split between the side-street and the old pub's ruins, a voice crackles over a few loudspeakers hanging from the drooping streetlamps. "Ssso, thiss isss the bessst they could sssend after me?" The voice is sibilant and the static of the speaker stresses the serpentine slithering speech. "Perhapsss you could be persssuaded to leave for a ssssmall fee...?" It is hard to tell where the broadcast might originate or how many of these speakers are even meant to be playing it, surprising as it is that any of them work at all. "Five thousssand creditsss apieccce? A good priccce for your livesss."

"...So ..that is like better than the bounty, and we wouldn't have to share a cut with Tarion." So says Siha who turns mid-way, face expressionless as she pops a hand on her hip, "I mean, I love jaywalking, though I do love killing people, but ...five thousand credits for each of us, with Tarion getting /none/? I mean, I am /so for/ screwing that guy over, like .. I have no hard feelings about it." She considers then, briefly, "How about ...fift thousand credits." Called out through her helmet, "EACH." Tacking that on, because she is a brilliant negotiator, hand snaking up into the air, the right one, to point her index finger at the sky, "Because you have the blood thirsty guild of ..us ...who are ready to kill you. So, it's a bargain, really. For /your life/." Yep, she did a bang up job of spotting the tracks, Evie, but not such a great job of negotiating out of a paper bag. Don't give the woman compliments, she can't handle them. Or deserve them.

"The Itchy Knickers? I haven't been there since someone set off that mite-bomb, back when the place was the Naughty Knickers," Yan said wistfully, dreaming of things to come and looking around impotently for his old assumed stomping ground. "Good times. They never did find out who did it." Yan what aren't you saying? Or what are you lying about? And then, the loudspeakers burst into life and sent slimy slithering syllables throughout the street in which Yan stood. "Oh boy here's Mister Big Shot!" he shouted towards the old club where, maybe, the fella was hiding. Walking forward to join the rest of the gang, he added his own "A small fee? Nah lady, he's a poor sod." This must be Yan's ploy, a directional taunting attempt to get some sort of info. "What are you, Captain Terrified, up there with all your Jedhanese naughty magazines quivering in so much fear you're leaving all these puddles? Nah friend-ski, you don't have the money and you don't have the guts. Hold still, we're comin' up!"

"I'll be fine," Sar answers back at the doctor before his eyes turn to fall on Evie, indicating that his answer stands for her, as well. His S-5 blaster pistol is slid out of its holster and the safety is flicked off.

"Five thousand is a pretty penny. It'd probably be enough to get my armor patched up," Sar says to nobody in particular, gun leveled and HUD kicking into overdrive as it blink-blinks, searching the area. Then Siha and Yan are tanking the man's generous offer in their own special ways. A deep sigh resonates from within the confines of the erstwhile Colonel's helmet.

Vena's red eyes squint, blazing for a moment, "Now, that sounds like a fine offer." she snorts. "If we hadn't already trudged down here to find your sorry ass." the woman states as she turns, seeing if she can see any movement. "I'd kill you for free and feed your rotting corpse to my cat if it's any consulation to you." she growls out. "Probably isn't, but, I really don't care." she states.

Sapphira lets out a low chuckle that would be much more belly-y, were the situation not different. "Yeah, Sar," she pokes fun. "Hear that? You're a detriment. Be careful not to get in anyone's way." More chuckles at that idea. The voice from on-high draws her to a stop and she looks up, as if expecting to see someone up there speaking even thoughy she (likely) knows better that she will not. She remains paused while the offer is given, then she listens to the responses. To Sar and his sigh she just gives a Look(tm) that seems to signify her silent agreement with his own position. But there's naught to be done now, so she just shrugs a single shoulder and takes a few quiet steps to the Knickers' door, crouching low and hopefully in quiet shadow.

From beside the door, the redhead-in-black is able to easily pop open a panel. So easily you'd think she'd done this before. Except the end result is quite the opposite of someone who's done this before. Not a moment after those slender, deft fingers reach for the wiring there's a kick of sparks and a choked sound of pain from the slender figure. Sapphira manages to hold back a scream though, but she does bring her hands close to her body in a gesture of protection. Then she lets out a small wimper that sounds like it's holding back tears and which has the distinct sound of 'sithspit.'

Oh. Conversation! Haggling! Vandred's helmed head lifts up to look towards the nearest loudspeaker, and he blink-clicks on it to record it's position. All the while, he's casually tugging off his glove. Off it pops, and he wiggles his pale fingers for a moment. "Just stretch and adjust the optic nerve.." He mutters to himself, as the tip of his finger becomes bulbous. The skin stretches.. Then begins to rapidly change colour. Texture. It becomes moist. Eyelashes begin sprouting out where a fingernail used to be - which flows into the rapidly shifting flesh until a perfect copy of his eyeball now sits on the tip of his finger. He turns it to look towards Jacali.

Wink. Wink. WINK. Eyelash flutter.

He turns his hand back towards the grate, and his index finger elongates like a noodle, as the eye closes so that it can slip inbetween the grate and open back up, peeking around inside of the ruin of the Itchy Knickers. <<"Clear inside. If we want to turn this into a fall-back position.">> Comes the.. Well. He doesn't sound /happy/ anymore. It's time for business. The digit slowly filters back to it's normal position, and the eyeball begins to slowly sink back into his finger as he begins to pull the glove back on.

"Technically, this is an under the table bounty. I could be in a position to listen.. But I mean. Five thousand credits /is/ a lot of money.. Then again, that would probably harm my image." He tugs at the glove as it has a bit of a hassle with his eye-finger that's rapidly becoming a normal eye again.

What... nonsense... is this?

Jacali glances from person to person as they throw their two creds into the pot -- their 'negotiations', their 'bluffing', their threats and promises all. She's never understood deception. Or, y'know, diplomacy. Or people. She only understands and cares for the science of any given situation or 'individual' that happens by, and none of this situation seems of any interest to the doctor.

Her breath still hisses in and out in soft, steady ebb and flow as she observes the game she never got the rules for, and refuses to participate in -- they may as well be playing Naropoly, and she expects by the end of the night they'll all be vicious enemies as a result.

She's also pretty sure Zhu Yan is sneaking hundos out of the box.

To Sar's insistance that he'll be fine, she gives no retort. He has been all but forgotten by this stage, him and his wounds, as other things become the more imminent threat. She observes Vandred and his oddities briefly, a quiet smack of her lips given before her attentions shift back to Yan, then to Vena and her fear-based tactics.

... Interesting.

Her attentions slide back to Vandred, "... You truly are a repugnant breed." Wow. Mean.

"I, myself, care little for how we proceed." She states this even as her Seeker drifts quietly away from her, tools extended toward the door, "And so I leave it to you all." Just buyin' time, really. It only takes a few more moments, some tiny little sparks, and a little luck before the door shudders with a grinding sound, a soft sniff given by the doctor, squinting against the sound. The door opens slightly further, "The funds matter lit--" SCREEEECH goes the door, "Little to--" SKKEEEEEE, "... to me."

Very subtle.

Soon, the door is open far enough for the crew to enter.

It's okay, Siha, Evie still thinks you did a /fantastic/ job negotiating, and looks forward to the fifty thousand credits that she's totally expecting now, really. However, she's not going to express this particular thought, or her subsequent thoughts regarding everyone else's words. She's trying really hard to just keep her head in her assumed role. Which definitely involves a lot of idle thoughts with lips pursed inside the helmet. Like how much faster a starship would be with tri-ion engines.

There's also a glance given over towards the door that Jacali's droid manages to get the door open. A considering glance.

...but there's also /fifty thousand credits/ they might get by staying still, so she's going nowhere, yet. There's a lot of things she could do with /that/ many credits...

"Are you sssuggessting I don't have the resssourcesss to pay a few foolsss who wander down here on a whim?" The hissing voice gives a dry chuckle that sounds like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. "Let me ssshhhow you how much 'clink' I really have." All around the group on the street, windows are smashed open and gun barrels appear at the windows, at least half a dozen. There's a muttering from the loudspeakers, like the orator may have thought it was switched off. "It'sss not fifty thousssand each clink, that'ssss for sssure."

Vena's loud denunciation of his generous offer and subsequent threat to feed him to her cat is met by a moment of silence, then the proclamation, "Ssshhhoot the blue one firssst!"

"Seriously? You take my counter offer, and send out your goons instead? Do you KNOW who I am? I am Alor of Clan Tal. I am Barely Mammal. Nearly /reptile/, the BITCH who stole your GIRL and your GUY. I am CAPTAIN ARCHER, curr of the seven slip tides of .." Shoot, where was that, "HAPAN." Her katana is slipped off from her right hip with a snag by her left hand, weapon brought to the forefront as as she shakes it.

"These idiots are worth /maybe/ five credits each." A squint from within that t-visored helmet, her neck craning forwards at two of them, no ...three, "Is that a bloody Evocci? Oh my goddess, what are you doing here." Throaty sigh, "Fine. I thought my offer was insanely fair, but ..I need a new arm, so let's get on with it then."

A sharp sniff, Siha stepping in front of Sar to protect him, "Just don't touch my new son. He's old. He's weakened. And it wouldn't be worth much to kill him so .." Rattling her saber she nudges helmeted chin towards the group, flexing her knees, "Bring it on, you stupid twats."

Zhu Yan's face stretched into a wide grin of glee. Fools, he'd called them fools! And then the windows broke open and the Tavers-Pattern Killbox took shape. Yan bet anything that this wasn't even its final form. Frack. OKAY. "OR!" roared out Yan, to go with the whole... when the heck did Siha Archer take up a CAUSE?! Scoff! Anyway. "Or you could turn around and walk, you fellas up in the windows there. The guy called you fools. Fools! What a fool! Here," he started fishing around in his pocket for a pouch of credchits. "Hang on." SUCCESS. "Okay. Look. Credits. Don't work for this asshat. Come work for us. We're cooler asshats. Look at all this cool armour my guys are in. Especially that guy," he pointed at Sar. "You can have armour like this. You can have this armour! Especially that guy's!" he pointed at Sar.

"Great!" Sar shouts, limp-running his way over to a nearby pillar that he can take refuge behind, instead of using Siha for cover. The landscape is not ideal, and the enemies have the HIGH GROUND.

Settling in with his back to the duracrete, Sar checks the charge of his blaster and looks over to Siha as she does her chest-puffy peacocking. She's absolutely getting an incredulous squint right now. "Should probably get behind some, Yan. Tiro's money's already done its talking. Your promise ain't payin' their bills," he says, off-hand moving to press against his side, again.

"I mean, you could have offered us fifty thousand a piece and I'm sure we'd all go about our business, but noooo." Vena states as she gets her dagger out. Seriously. A dagger? Someones gonna be taking a bacta bath for a month. Emperor Palpatine the Second scurries out of the Chiss' hood and heads back out into the alley. He's a smart one. There's a look over all the faces that bust through the windows, "Well, this is more variety in faces than when I was in the Navy." she muses. Which Navy? One will never know! But, she does move for cover...trying to see who to hit first, and it's the Gungan! But nothing gets hit given he's hanging out a window.

"Thank you, Jacali!" Vandred replies admist the now mounting chaos. Apparently the insult doesn't reach him. His glove is back on, and with Jacali now opening the door to the Itchy Knickers, the.. Mandalorian(?) - he's got the armour on, at least - begins moving. He promptly charges his way into the Itchy Knickers, and then moves to one of the grates that he poked his finger into previously.

Letting his Aug. Reality help guide his aim, he shifts so that his body is mostly behind cover, bringing up the E-11 blaster rifle. He takes aim at the Rodian, pausing long enough to get a soft 'beep' of a lock. His finger squeezes once. Twice.

The first bolt scores a direct hit, but the combination of kickback from the Carbine and the fact that he actually hit the Rodian causes the second bolt to go wide. "If you could all please join me in cover. Especially you, Jacali." He doesn't out loud mention that she's the medic. That'd be dumb. He's not /that/ dumb.

Yet.

"I can't feel my kriffin' hands..." Sapphira grumbles, rolling off to the side so her back is against the door to the pub while she cradles her zapped fingers. The movement allows that droid to roll over and pop open the door, no problem. So much so that she actually doesn't have time to support herself and she falls backwards into the pub just as shots start firing. "I'm fine!" she calls to the group. "I'll just ... be in here!" And indeed that's where she will be, waiting for sensation to return to her stupid, useless hands.

"Thank you, Jacali!" Vandred replies admist the now mounting chaos. Apparently the insult doesn't reach him. His glove is back on, and with Jacali now opening the door to the Itchy Knickers, the.. Mandalorian(?) - he's got the armour on, at least - begins moving. He promptly charges his way into the Itchy Knickers, and then moves to one of the grates that he poked his finger into previously.

Letting his Aug. Reality help guide his aim, he shifts so that his body is mostly behind cover, bringing up the E-11 blaster rifle. He takes aim at the Rodian, pausing long enough to get a soft 'beep' of a lock. His finger squeezes once. Twice.

The first bolt scores a direct hit, but the combination of kickback from the Carbine and the fact that he actually hit the Rodian causes the second bolt to go wide. "If you could all please join me in cover. Especially you, Jacali." He doesn't out loud mention that she's the medic. That'd be dumb. He's not /that/ dumb.

Yet.

Nothing Jacali does is in a hurry.

She does, however, meander in through the door just as Vandred has suggested, her droid following along behind her with nary a blip or beep to be heard from either of them. With her pistol primed and ready, she lifts it to point it toward the Rodian that Vandred had shot, squeezing the trigger to loose a single shot to bring it to the ground.

"Remember: I do not mean to waste my supplies. I would suggest proceeding with all due caution. All wounds suffered through no fault of your own, I will tend to."

Fight or flight instinct has come into play here, and given that their quarry gave the instruction to 'shoot the blue one first', Evie's going to partially ditch Yan's plan, running away from her 'boss' and inside the building. However, the Relby was made for times like this, a weapon that provides EXCRUCIATING pain to its targets, rather than killshots. For changing aggressive minds, it's the gun that she she'll want to use.

<< "You bunch might want to take the boss' generous offer, next time I shoot, I'm ending someone." >> she declares, rising her arm towards the first target she spies -- a Gungan thug, and fires off a couple blasts. The first slams into her target, the second goes wide. Either way, she's pretty sure they're going to feel it in the morning... maybe, just maybe, it'll help Yan's efforts.

"It would cossst me lessss to buy a droid army than to pay you all fifty thousssand," the slithery voice waxes philosophical over the loudspeakers while the battle commences. "It isss not a matter of cassshhh assssss much assss it isss the princccipal."

The ring of thugs in their elevated positions open fire on the hunters both indoors and out, and the street is filled with flying plasma as shots burn holes in the walls, the street, and at least a few people. Alien languages shout insults and threats into the air. "QUEESHA KEE!" "HOOGA MOO DOOOOGAAAA!"

"Enough gamesss," the speakers announce. "RELEASSSE THE SSSSSSSLUG!" More dry laughter as the ceiling above them rolls back. An enormous pale shape appears against the dark above them, and then drops loose like a stuck lump of gum. The creature plummets the few feet down and lands with an almighty belly-flop slap and a spray of biofilm. There writhing on the floor of the Itchy Knickers is a massive duracrete slug a full ten meters long. It looks like if it was smaller it might be cute, but since it runs the length of the common area and has already begun to slime towards the nearest pair of feet, maybe not.

Siha Archer had run inside, abandoning Sar ANYHOW, sword drawn in to settle between both hands, screaming out loudly only to come up short to a skittering halt as the slug was released, "That ..is disgusting." Her accented voice rings out with some disgust, nose wrinkling beneath her helm, though she'll dart out to swing her sword at it once, thing completely mission, second driving jab towards one piece of blob she can't differentiate from any other, "WHY WOULD YOU HAVE YOUR PET FIGHT YOUR BATTLES, you bloody cowards." SCHWING.

Say what you will about a duracrete slug, it's still better presented than the Naughty Knickers' previous occupants. But it couldn't be bargained with nor reasoned with and thus Yan had to go with Plan C: Shoot Second (because someone already Shot First).

The Bryar flew out of its holster and had let two deafening BLAMs into the Slug's hide before Yan had even thought the process through. It was his one trick. "Upstairs, let's go, let's go!" he cried out, waving his left mechanical hand around in a circle he ASSUMED meant 'follow me ya sods!'. There was a turbolift up the back, a rickety old thing that made Yan seriously question the sanity of any fool who lived in this building. But, people were up on higher levels, and they weren't dead, and there was no other way to get up there, sooooooo, that must be it, right? Right? Well, Yan was running for it. Slowly. He has little legs.

"Ah, krif me," Sar says as bolts begin sailing around, one of them finding purchase right in his gut and sending him reeling onto his back, his helmet clanking against the duracrete. "Ahhh, this sucks," he says, his hand moving from his old wound to his new one. It's the one bleeding the heaviest now, after all. "Gah, Percy...or...whoever's gonna kill me," he says, rolling over onto his side and flipping a switch on his blaster. Losing blood fast, he tries to steady his shaky hand, pulling the trigger thricely and sending liquid cable darts into...the wall near the Gungan. His last ditch effort falling short, Sar's hand drops to the street, the old man fading into unconciousness.

Release the what?" Vena states as she looks around. "Well...kriff." she mutters as she rolls away from the cover she'd found. Her armor smoking from the shot that she'd taken. Then there's a slug that's gods awful big. The Chiss adds to the strike tally on it, hoping it'll die before people outside realize that everyone is trying to kill it. "Ah kriff...we left Sar outside." she huffs out.

"I can only imagine this pet is terribly expensive," Jacali knows well how much creatures such as these cost. For reasons. Science reasons. All completely above board, of course. "Please," She asks of any that can hear her, "Do your best not to destroy the cadaver. I've theories to explore." Yes. Yes, theories. Anyone that's spent any time with Jacali knows all about her 'theories', and how she seems to have one for every situation.

With varying degrees of validity.

With that, she has turned in order to redirect her weapon's fire toward the slug, doing her best to not do too much damage to the tissues she hopes to collect. It's likely this extra care that causes two of her shots to go wide, but the final one does punch through the beast in precisely the way it needed to.

Evie's plan was, you know, follow Yan, get away from the slug... but she can't help but notice that they're down an ally. An ally in Mandalorian armor, no less. Who should have known better than to wave off the good doctor. << "Go, I'll take care of him!" >> is yelled to the others as the pilot moves to run back outside of the building to the unconcious old man. There's still gunners around, so she's going for speed, not for 'don't scuff the armor'. She grabs hold of a leg, and /drags/ Sar towards some proper cover, intent on making sure the man has a chance to actually /survive/ the battle. It costs her the opportunity to shoot at people... but potentially saving a life is more important in this case.

"Old man has deceased," the Gank announces from its window, its heavy metal casing projecting a very pleased air of triumph at having massacred Sar with the help of his comrades.

When Zhu Yan approaches the turbolift, the door slides back and reveals the interior, where a Sluisi is standing on his tail clutching a microphone in one hand and a datapad in the other. "...thisss isss awkward," he hisses, drumming scaled fingers on the back of the device. "Isss it too late to talk bribesss...?" Tiro Fajji wonders hopefully, with a hint of a rueful smile.

"I told you /fifty thousand/." Siha states, having run after Zhu to follow him into the turbolift, standing just outside of the doors as they slide open to reveal the Trandosha. Her katana lifts and slices handily into the turbolift wall and through into the actual all outside where she stands, sword coming down hard to slide in through the Trandoshan from shoulder to wherever his bonescicles end, somewhere along the waist. Also sar-something-something-my-son-how-dare-you is part of the motivation. Honest.

Sword yanks back as she steps back with her left foot to dislodge the sword, "You, the short man in the weird fitting clothes, finish him." To Zhu. She's talking Zhu, sweeping her sword forwards to point at the Trandoshan who might be standing still yet, she doesn't care. Just do it.

When the turbolift opened Zhu Yan was taken aback. What a surprise! He regarded Tiro Fajji with an expression of 'huh!' written all over his face. Then he actually said "huh!". He glanced to Siha, he looked back at Tiro, he looked at Siha, and then he looked at the absolute shishkebab being made of the inside of that turbolift and winced in almost sympathy. "I /did/ want to hear what he had to offer, but," KERBLAMMO. The shot rang out inside the turbolift as Yan confirmed the kill. "They do not fit weird! They're perfect! Perfect!" Was he brooding? He did not have the face for brooding, he wasn't nearly handsome enough, or Sar Yavok. It was either that or a meltdown and thank god we didn't get that bundle of impotent rage.

Well, Zhu and Siha have that covered, Vena takes a few big steps back and then heads for the outside again, probably going to be shot, but, Sar was down and even if she wasn't a Mando she didn't leave people bleeding out. "We'll just rub some dirt in it and put you in a bacta tank...unless Jacali gets you all patched up first." she mutters as she heads for the Starscout wearing Mando...that's not Evie!

<< "Oh, good, you have medical skills, Vena?" >> Evie asks the approaching Chiss -- there were two Mandos in that armor, just... one of them was on the ground and unconscious while the other was kneeling over him, and holding a blaster at the ready in order to shoot any /un/friendly who comes out to try and finish the job. It's the best she can do; the pilot has no medical inclination at all.

And so ends the reign of Tiro Fajji, jaywalker, litterer, enemy of the peace and polite conversation. Oh, and mass murderer. The Sluisi lets out one last long hiss, like a balloon leaking air, and collapses in a heap on the floor of the turbolift just as a Gungan hired gun-gan is coming through the front door, seeing the whole thing. <"Yousa not goin' to believin' diss,"> he comms to his comrades, <"But beeg boss gittin deader den dissin dissin slugworm. Meesa no gettin' paid, meesa no care, meesa go bye now, okeeday?">

As the Gungan walks back out, there's a muttering of agreement from the surrounding buildings and the blaster barrels recede into the darkness.

It's at this moment that the next turbolift over beeps and the light above it comes on, the door slides back, and out steps Tarion Tavers with a huge grin on his face. "Never fear, Tarion Tavers is- oh, he's already dead." The bounty hunter tuts and titters like a mother hen as he plants his hands on his hips and steps over to examine the body. "That's him alright. Tiro Fajjjjiii. I would have preferred him alive," the man complains with a sigh, giving his head a little shake even though he literally never said anything to imply that at any point. "But this works! I'll wire you the creds. I can take it from here. Go on, git!" Then he starts shooing them away with that same lop-sided grin. "All in a day's work."

"I TOLD YOU." Siha will grouse, pointing at Tarion with her sword.