Log:No Good Deed
Loansharks abound, pushing Uli too far.
OOC Date: March 12, 2016
Location: Pakko's Place, Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Stavros as GM and himself, Uli Gosse
Pakko's Place - Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa
When stepping into this establishment, its hard to ever imagine that it was ever a nice bar. A set of stairs lead down from the street into a trash filled entryway, the bar's door is generally always open allowing locals access in and out of the bar. An old electric sign hangs over the rounded duracrete doorway and it flashes Pakko's Plac (the 'e' was stolen years ago). Inside the bar its a fairly large room with tables and chairs scattered about, the sorts of folk you find in here are the drunek disasters that only a lifetime of sorrow could provide. There's very rarely any life here in this dark and dank establishment and the droid that operates the bar offers no conversation for anyone who sits at the bar. A doorway in the back leads to an old cardhouse where gambler's test their luck against each other.
SET:
Pakko's doesn't have much, but it does have alcohol, a dartboard, and people who generally know better than to try to get involved in each other's business. Also, it's not full of Rebel Yellers. Sometimes that's good.
Stavros is sticking to drinks that come in single-use bottles: who knows what 'on draft' even means here, or if the alcohol bottles are reused? This is the kind of place he's been going to for his ever-so-brief adult life, but after owning a bar, his awareness of all the corners that can be cut is changing his habits.
The Zeltron's going through a decent supply of them, though, and it may be affecting his aim a bit. No Rebel Yell tags on anything he's wearing, but his rifle is leaned up against the wall where he can reach it reasonably quickly. He's doing his best to prevent the general emotional malaise from infecting him by paying attention mostly to Uli, the darts, and the booze.
Pakko's is the kind of place that Uli's been drinking in for years - probably several years before he should have legally been drinking at all. That kind of thing inspires an odd sort of loyalty, even if the place represents everything that's sort of shit about his life.
He's currently got a handful of crooked darts and he's chucking them at a chewed up dart board. He's actually doing half decently given the state of the equipment - and also his current state of inebriation. He's swaying ever so slightly as he flicks the darts towards the board. "Sure you don't want to have a game?" this to Stavros. He snorts softly. "I think this dart board has been here since I was fifteen." When he's drunk, his backwoods Imperial accent comes out more fully. He's spent most of his life on Nar, but it's still there. Some things don't shake off easily.
"I told you last time," Stavros says with a small smile. "Not again, not with those darts. They might be even older than the board." He snorts, too, raising a bottle and drinking a third of it down in one go. "Do the darts even all stick on this board?"
The door is already open. It's raining out there. The light spilling in from the door disappears as a shape blocks the entrance: a dull green greatcoat belted snugly about the waist of a six-foot, five inches humanoid shark. His eyes are black, his head angular, and his arms, "casually" tucked into his coat pockets. He walks slowly to the bar, a lit deathstick held delicately between his razor teeth as he slowly turns his gaze about the room.
Two of his goons step in behind him. They are different species: a gran and someone that either doesn't breathe oxygen or believes strongly in protective headgear that obscures his identity. Their differences can't mask that they are part of the leader's pack.
"Sort of," says Uli with a shrug. He chucks a dart and it falls to the floor...with a bit of board impaled on it. He bends down to retrieve it and misses the entrance of the imposing figure. He turns back around, kebabed dart with board in hand. He's grinning dopily.
That dopy grin disappears, as does the quip he had ready when he sees the big figure, "Oh, shit," he murmurs. He backs up a little bit, out of their direct line of sight. It's possible they're not here for him. Possible.
The bartender droid moves into action when the shark raises two fingers and one of his thumbs, silent save for hinges and joints that could use some oil. While the pours three draft brews, the customer begins to speak in a firm but undeniably high alto voice: "I ran into Weaves the other day." The voice is loud enough to carry, even when his back is to the two humanoids at the dart board. Unexpectedly high-pitched or not, the voice reeks of self-assurance, the threat of violence implicit in every word. "Do you know what he said?"
He turns around when he and his muscle each have a drink in their hands, looking right at Stavros's and Uli's corner. He takes his deathstick out with one hand and takes a slow, noisy sip of the beer through a straw. "He said, that Gosse boy paid off. He paid - in full. The ledger - he said - was clear."
"I told him he must be wrong, because //I// knew that //Uli// knew who was on top in this business." He replaces the deathstick between his "lips," taking a drag. "//I// knew, there must be some mistake."
When Stavros wakes up to this threat being a good deal more personal than just a passing troop of gangbangers, his eyes are drawn to the speaker, and widen somewhat. He leans back a bit before he catches himself. Whatever he's sensing, he's not liking it. There is no casual way to half-draw a rifle, so he settles for leaning forward and letting the barrel rest on his left shoulder. But that's all he does. He doesn't like the math; he doesn't like the terrain.
Annnnd this is why you should never go to loan sharks. Loan shark //sharks// are a particularly bad idea. Uli swallows tightly and clenches a pair of darts in his hand. "What do you want from me, Kerr? I paid my debt. That's a good thing, yeah? You got your money back with a shit-ton of interest."
He can only spare a half look out of the corner of his eye towards Stavros. But the Zeltron can see that every muscle in his upper body is tensed. He might even be sweating a little under the collar. It's safe to say his stomach is in his shoes.
"No," Kerr says in a voice that could be considered gentle stripped of any and all context. "No. I sold that loan to Weave, and now Weave's ledger - it's not red." The figure stretches its muscles, and they can be seen rippling even through the greatcoat. "I picked up the loan you took out from Zerrod. After his little accident, you know." Zerrod was a 'street banker' who had been in debt to Kerr himself, also. He hasn't been seen for a few months.
"There's still your debt in //my// ledger, Gosse," Kerr says, pointing at the pickpocket with his deathstick. "When red spills in my ledger, it has a way of spilling elsewhere." He takes a few steps closer. In a softer voice, one clearly not meant to carry, he says, "A man with credits to close thousands in debt- should know //which// debts to close first. Maybe someone hears; maybe someone thinks Weave knows how to run a tighter ship."
"And maybe I know where you live, boy," Kerr says. "You made that many credits in a month once. I know you can do it again." He puts his deathstick between his teeth again. "Do it again - for //me//." He stares, then walks a few steps to the door, followed by his guards. They're all carrying their drinks with them, glassware and all. Except, before Kerr is out of range, he turns and, with a sharp shoving gesture, sends the entirety of his beer towards Uli at close range. "You're welcome." The shark smiling is a disconcerting sight, revealing as it is does what must be hundreds of needles that serve as teeth. "It could have been blood."
Stavros deals with drama by backing his chair away and dropping the blaster rifle towards his lap. It's not facing any of the thugs, but with the stock closer to his shoulder and a bit more distance, maybe - just maybe - he could kill someone before they kill Uli. He keeps his trap shut. Even he knows there's nothing he could say that would help, and lots of things that might hurt.
"No," Kerr says in a voice that could be considered gentle stripped of any and all context. "No. I sold that loan to Weave, and now Weave's ledger - it's not red." The figure stretches its muscles, and they can be seen rippling even through the greatcoat. "I picked up the loan you took out from Zerrod. After his little accident, you know." Zerrod was a 'street banker' who had been in debt to Kerr himself, also. He hasn't been seen for a few months.
"There's still your debt in //my// ledger, Gosse," Kerr says, pointing at the pickpocket with his deathstick. "When red spills in my ledger, it has a way of spilling elsewhere." He takes a few steps closer. In a softer voice, one clearly not meant to carry, he says, "A man with credits to close thousands in debt- should know //which// debts to close first. Maybe someone hears; maybe someone thinks Weave knows how to run a tighter ship."
"And maybe I know where you live, boy," Kerr says. "You made that many credits in a month once. I know you can do it again." He puts his deathstick between his teeth again. "Do it again - for //me//." He stares, then walks a few steps to the door, followed by his guards. They're all carrying their drinks with them, glassware and all. Except, before Kerr is out of range, he turns and, with a sharp shoving gesture, sends the entirety of his beer towards Uli at close range. "You're welcome." The shark smiling is a disconcerting sight, revealing as it is does what must be hundreds of needles that serve as teeth. "It could have been blood."
Stavros deals with drama by backing his chair away and dropping the blaster rifle towards his lap. It's not facing any of the thugs, but with the stock closer to his shoulder and a bit more distance, maybe - just maybe - he could kill someone before they kill Uli. He keeps his trap shut. Even he knows there's nothing he could say that would help, and lots of things that might hurt.
If Yvie had any idea what Uli had to go through to pay for her education, she'd be wracked with guilt for the rest of her life. He stares darkly at the shark-man, jaw clenched, fists clenched as well, tight enough to dig the darts into the palm of his hand and to send a dot of blood snaking down his pinky.
He manages to avoid getting hit with the bottle, but the splatter does shoot up his leg. Stavros will see it - he drops the darts and starts to put a hand towards his jacket. There's enough time for the Zeltron to either stop him from doing something stupid - or help him do it.
If he'd had less time to appraise the situation, Stavros probably would have been raising his rifle about now. Who would win? It's impossible to know. But after watching the angles, looking at the other patrons, seeing the exit blocked, and being forced into close range, Stavros is forced to an unwelcome conclusion.
Last time he helped Uli Gosse, Stavros nearly got his friend killed. If he helped him this time, the odds are better than even that it would finish the job.
So the Zeltron darts forward, letting his blaster rifle clatter to the floor as he lunges for Uli's hand. He's got fast hands himself, and he's been watching for this to happen. He closes his hand around Uli's wrist just before the pickpocket can make it the blaster presumably holstered within.
Stavros is not strong, though, and if Uli wanted, he could probably still get the blaster free. Probably not before the two thugs, through. The gran is starting to draw his light blaster pistol, while the figure masked by his opaque helmet is working to free his heavy blaster pistol.
The touch (and the sound of the rifle falling) is enough to bring Uli back to his senses. His hand stops its movement when Stavros grasps his wrist. He angles his hand upward, fingers gripping around a pack of cigarettes instead. He pulls out said cigarettes and rather pointedly lights one while staring down the guard. See? No gun. Not //this// time.
Kerr just laughs, an awful wheezing, the kind of sounds that would echo out of the Hell of a Thousand Chain-Smokers. The shark turns back toward the door. "Good seeing you, Uli," he says, before walking up the steps back to the street. The two guards stare, once they have their pistols out, but neither aims them at anything but the floor. They don't put them away until they've left the bar, though.
Stavros lets out a huge sigh, as though he were holding his breath the whole time they were here. He lets go of Uli's wrist and steps back to scoop up his rifle. "I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I just- not all of us would walk away." He takes another deep breath and lets it out in a hiss. He looks at the pickpocket. Rather than commenting on how deep the shit he's in seems to be, he suggests, "Let's give it a minute and then clear out, okay? I'm done with this place for tonight."
Kerr just laughs, an awful wheezing, the kind of sounds that would echo out of the Hell of a Thousand Chain-Smokers. The shark turns back toward the door. "Good seeing you, Uli," he says, before walking up the steps back to the street. The two guards stare, once they have their pistols out, but neither aims them at anything but the floor. They don't put them away until they've left the bar, though.
Stavros lets out a huge sigh, as though he were holding his breath the whole time they were here. He lets go of Uli's wrist and steps back to scoop up his rifle. "I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I just- not all of us would walk away." He takes another deep breath and lets it out in a hiss. He looks at the pickpocket. Rather than commenting on how deep the shit he's in seems to be, he suggests, "Let's give it a minute and then clear out, okay? I'm done with this place for tonight."
Uli does in fact light his cigarette. He takes a long draw off it and glares at the door where the shark man and his entourage left. "Sure, man," he says. There's something cold in those two clipped words. He's a million miles away.
After the time it takes to finish half his cigarette passes, he puts it out, then starts for the exit, likely with Stavros in tow.
A short trip out, of course, but before they can make it too far away, a short figure nexts to one of the few functioning streetlights moves to block Stavros's and Uli's path: Xel, a small-time moneylender with pretensions.
"Uli! Why are you busting my balls?" Does this squat green alien have those, in the traditional sense? No matter: "I gave you an extension, but if you've got the creds to drink at Pakka's, you've got the creds to pay!" He might be trying for menacing, but he's short enough that he could head-butt Uli in the crotch, and his sharp poke is instead aimed at the knee. He chortles, when he sees the wet stain on Uli's pants. "What'd you do, piss yourself?"
Uli is in no mood to deal with any other moneylenders tonight. He reaches out to grab for Xel's wrist, to shove him back hard at the poke. "Get out of my face." Witty. But it's easy to see he's barely holding it together. If the little green man still gets up in his face, he's not going to react with patience.
Stavros dismisses the alien from his attention after looking him up and - well, mostly down. Rifle slung over his shoulder, he is instead looking at the various alleys, the various people, none of whom want to admit they see this going on, today and every day.
If Xel were as big as his ego, he could stomp this pair of humanoids no trouble. As it is, when he puts his own hand on Uli's wrist, which is holding Xel's _other_ wrist, he says, "Hey! Hands off! I touch, or I don't." He glares at Uli. "Because _I've_ got the money, and you've got squat. Run away before the wind blows you over."
There's something that tightens on Uli's expression. And then, it breaks into a tight, forced smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He pauses, then twists around and aims a punch squarely at the green man's jaw. Another follows soon after, then another. He doesn't wait for Xel to fight back.
Stavros turns back to the alien at rough sound of knuckles hitting bones with just a bit of flesh over them. A crooked, humorless smile crosses his face, as he tries to avoid feeling what Xel feels. The squat fellow could use being taken down a peg, and Uli could use a vent to frustration, surely. He looks away again.
At the continuing assault, though, and when Xel falls to the ground, the Zeltron looks back at Uli with a sudden wariness. He's not just looking; he's feeling. What's fueling Uli's strikes is something ugly.
"Hey," he says softly.
Uli doesn't hear Stavros. When the short alien drops to the ground, he gets down on one knee and punches him again. His knuckles are already red, and each strike opens up further cuts. Only when the small green man's arms drop down does he stand and step back to take in what just happened. His eyes are wide, his breath is ragged and sharp. He looks at his hand, down at the broken alien, then reaches into his jacket pocket. He grabs about a hundred credits and flings it down at the alien. Then, without waiting for Stavros, he starts to stride away. A garbage container partially blocks his path. It's kicked loudly and with a burst of temper. It makes a racket as it clatters to the ground and spills its contents.
Xel is probably not dead. How hurt he is probably takes a specialized doctor to determine, but being knocked unconscious is never a good sign. Without a second glance at the moneylender, Stavros jogs to catch back up - and to dodge the bin Uli kicks. "Hey, are you okay to go home like this? You can come clean up at the Blue Light, crash if you need to- just-" He settles back down to a pace next to him, "Just say the word."
Uli can't make sane decisions right now like where he should sleep. He's still got rage and frustration and fear bubbling over. He's walking very quickly towards nowhere in particular, just because he needs to put all this frustrated energy somewhere. He's actually shaking. His hand clenches and unclenches. After a few moments of silence, he says, "She has to move. Somewhere under a different name. She has to...-" he swallows.
Stavros keeps pace, but for once he's just listening intently. At least, on the surface. He's trying to push a bit of calm and soothe the anger with that particular Zeltron gift, but it's pushing upstream. When Uli trails off, he says gently, "Maybe so. Let's talk it through. If we need to get her offworld, we can."
Uli is 'punch a lamppost' mad. He flexes his hand and actually for a moment looks like he might just break his fist against something inanimate. Stavros' gift might not be able to push him towards a zen-like state, but it probably stopped Fenwick from a late night wake-up call. "Even if I pay...every single one of those assholes. Even if I take out loans from people I am pretty sure won't kill me..." He means Rebel Yell, "...they still will want more."
"Well." Stavros is giving it earnest thought, splitting his attention. "Maybe... Kerr said he wanted to be paid first, right? They all do, right? Maybe... maybe if it's like, one lump sum, pay everybody everything in a single day, or... I don't know. We can find a way, though."
Stavros tries to smile. It comes out a little twisted, but the intent is there. "You're welcome. This time no one got shot. I call it a win." He puts a hand out on Uli's shoulder as the man leans against the wall. "Maybe we can up the security at your place. Get some rest; talk to Yvie."
He squeezes the shoulder gently. "We can find a way to make this work, Uli. Even if it involves killing a bunch of loan sharks." He doesn't sound like he's kidding. "Just- maybe leave it to those of us who are already killers. I'd rather you not... you know, it's hard, it hardens you, it- look, I'm rambling, now." Stavros takes a deep breath. "I'll walk you back, okay? And if there's any trouble - any! - call the Blue Light security people. They'll get here way faster than we would from Parmac's. C'mon, let's go."
