Noventa - A Star Wars Story

Dark blue skin covered by a thick inner layer of clothing was protected from chaffing against the armor strapped underneath a thick and dirty long coat. A mercenary's cold, red eyes scanned the horizon with a flash of white at his lips, a smirk. Some farms stretched out from the center of the town but they weren't large. Just large enough to support the few residential buildings, a general store, and a small tavern that seemed to be the main attraction of this small village. There was almost no one here on the best of days, it was perfect.

Shifting the strap of his long blaster so that it rested alongside his back the mercenary walked into town, his boots kicking up dust as he crossed the divide of the surrounding grasslands and into the space where grass was killed off from traffic.

[Up to Three PC's may join this thread]

Lena was out on the range to observe this 'nerf' thing up close, when she noticed someone else. She moved slowly closer. "Howdy." She greeted in the traditional Noventa greeting.

Yara steps out of the general store with a cup of caf in her hand, leaving the low-tech wooden half-doors swinging behind her. At the tail end of one of her periodic trips to check on patients out this way, a shot of mild stimulant had seemed like a good idea before the long drive home.

Recognizing Lena, even if she looks rather different in normal clothes, Yara lifts her free hand in greeting to the pair as she descends the few steps from the general store porch to the ground.

Continuing on his path the Chiss looked Lena over and kept walking, "I'm busy," he said gruffly as he passed. Walking in toward the town's tavern.

Yara comes even with Lena only a few moments after the Chiss stranger has brushed her off. "Polite sort of fellow, isn't he?"

She frowns bemusedly after him. A blaster--and likely some armor under that coat of his--is nothing strange in rural areas of Noventa, but the settlers usually follow the adage that an armed society is a polite society--that is, it's not that deadly weaponry makes people naturally more courteous, but there's a general understanding that if everyone's got to tote around a blaster rifle to ward off aggressive Manka cats, one ought to avoid being too aggressive oneself. This stranger isn't exactly following the spirit of that code.

"Oh yeah, not a bad word out of him." Lena frowned.

"What's up doc?" She gestured towards the tavern. "Care for a quick drink?"

Just ahead the Chiss Mercenary continues on into the tavern ahead of the duo.

Yara looks down at the coffee in her hand, up again at the retreating back of the mercenary. "Not what I had in mind, but... why not." She too begins to stroll in that direction.

Unhindered in their progress the two have found that the scene has accelerated rather rapidly.

"-ust give him up, and this can all end peacefully. Don't make me have to come back here," said the Chiss, leaning into the table he was staring daggers across at the woman who tended the bar. Looking back was the middle-aged Mirialan woman with long brown hair. "Don't know from what part of the galaxy you're from, but not here. We don't turn in good folk to people like you 'round here."

"You're signing your own death warrant, you understand that?" the Chiss growled low.

So much for bucolic small-town life. If she'd come across this scene in Providencetown, or even some of the shadier parts of Noventa City, Yara might not consider interfering. But as far as she's observed, there's a sort of social contract out here: people mind their own business but watch one another's backs. She's spent the better part of a year convincing these people she's trustworthy--half an insider, if not a whole one--and she needs to keep that trust to do her job as well as possible.

The whole train of thought takes no more than a few seconds, after which Yara clears her throat. "Excuse me. Is there a problem?"

"No problem," the Mirialan said, glaring back at the man and resting her hands beneath the counter. "Our friend here was just leaving is all. Isn't that right, friend?"

"You are making a mistake," he said, once more.

"Sorry you feel that way friend, but that's not how I see it," the Mirialan woman responded, shifting ever so slightly.

The Merc, instead, turned to look over Yara and Lena. Sizing the two of them up. There was something off about the way he looked at them, like he wasn't really there right at that second. However, it was hard to tell with the lack of pupils and just the dull red that made up the entirety of the eyes of a Chiss.

"Oh come on. Robbing a tavern? Seriously?" Lena let out an exasparated sigh. "You do know the whole town will hunt you down if they cannot have their booze? And I'll be at the front." She shook her head, than looked the man in the eye. Or tried to, at least. "I mean I get it. I can be desperate for credits or booze myself, but seriously man. You gotta have some standards."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, so do us both a favor," he said, flexing his hand.

LEna sighed, shook her head, and started moving to the bar. "Do you have any bourbon?" She asked the bartender, ignoring the person with the weapon.

Glaring at Lena the Chiss turned his head sharply, eyed Yara and then stormed out of the building.

Leaving the three of them with the change in mood of the room he left behind to deal with.

"Bourban? Sure," the Mirialan tender said, pulling the blaster rifle she'd been holding under the bar up top and laying it across the counter. Giving a friendly nod to the two women. Shifting her hands back under she finds the bourban and brings it back up top, laying out a few glasses and brushing her hair back. "Sorry for the fuss, promise it's not a frequent thing around these parts."

"What brings you two to town, I wonder?"

"Just checking on patients." Yara keeps an eye on the blue stranger as he beats his retreat from the bar, cognizant of the weight of her pistol in its concealed holster under her jacket. Odd fellow. "What was that all about?"


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Honorordeath wrote:here was something off about the way he looked at them, like he wasn't really there right at that second.

Is this something Yara might potentially recognize as medically 'off' about him, or just that he's in a weird mood?

[More like he was lost in thought than in a haze, since he's gone I have no worries mentioning he was sizing up the situation and playing out potential ways it could go down in his head. For example: If I shoot the one on the right, this happens, that happens, this happens, and then I die. Alright, so I shoot the one on the left..." so on and so forth. As we've witnessed, he decided that he's be better off making his retreat than trying to force his hand here. Cold, Chiss, Calculation.]

"Bounty Hunter," she says, the disgust in her tone clear. Deciding right then to toss up a third glass, for herself. Indicating the open seats to both women as she begins to pour hefty glasses. "Came in looking for someone, someone we used to know around these parts. Didn't much like it when I told him to run off, that there'd be no help for him here. Seems convinced that this man he's hunting is hiding here."

The woman finishes pouring and pushes the drinks out to their respective places, "Wouldn't be much of a worry normally but there's a problem."

"A problem?"

After considering for a moment, Yara peels the top off her caf and tips a small amount of the bourbon into the hot drink.

"That guy he's looking for," she said, taking a glass and leaning into her seat. "He's here."

"Oh?" Lena asked curiously, taking a sip of bourbon. "Guy have a name?" she asked idly.