He was so. Fraking. Sick. Of the desert.
The sun beat down unrelenting, drying the skin and eyes and sinuses in ways that made echoes in the mind. Urge to bite the heads off of every single thing in this colony: 341%. Urge to remove his own skin: 9000%.
Urge to be back at the house, with Flyndt, home: off the charts.
But he has a mission and a promise, and he needs to busy himself while the Omwati trains with Karran and not just vibrate molecule by molecule with the desire to ask to be present for the training. He has to give Flyndt space. He has to fulfill his promise and find Gaile.
Then Flyndt can be happy and free.
And then he’ll go, eventually, the self laments, curling over in and creeping back behind a locked door in the mind where every silent scream goes to die. But the rest of the self acknowledges this is ideal, no matter how much all of the self hates it. Them healing is the desired outcome. It’s what they’re working so hard for. And while he may break Jax’s nose for daring to tell him that all he feels is the trauma bond, to fraking minimize it like that, that’s him. Flyndt…Flyndt wants to stay now.
But he’s unlikely to want to stay forever. And Foxen cannot ask. Not as they are. It’s like he tells Minnie over and over every time she looks at him with pain and judgement, saying things like, “you’re both so stupid, just tell him! Let him make an informed decision!” and “Tolly, please. Please don’t hurt yourself. Please.”
Asking would be over the line. Coercion. Non-consent. Capture. Enslaving. Just another cage, gilded. He will rip and tear and rend any cages. He will eliminate himself before he makes one. He’s told Flyndt already. The information is given. But he will not ask.
- A bar patron bumps his table, and Foxen is drawn from his 2.03 second rumination with the urge to stab a knife 45 cm through the hand responsible for bumping. He resists. Stabbing of hands is non conductive to the type of meeting he has today.
Stupid fraking desert world stupid fraking sun stupid Karran…
But his contact is here, on Abafar, and refused to leave the mining colony until his business was concluded. So Foxen had to come to him. It will be worth it, if he can actually get a lead on the currently operating mercenary groups here in the Outer Rim. This will be Intel for Flyndt. This could lead to Gaile.
The Nautolan hybrid watched the door, waiting for a particular figure.
Jux walks in with a bag of stones and what he hopes is precious minerals. Dumping the stones onto a table, he sits down to sift through his haul.
“Junk! Junk! Junk!” He loudly proclaims. “…Ohhh thisss looksss…mumbles in words so no other patrons can hear him”
he bites into the rock revealing a geode full of crystals and his eyes light up.
He notices the tentacle haired mercenary across the way and slides the geode into his pocket.
Jux walks over and says “You dont look like you’re from around here! Whats your name, stranger?”
The Nautolan hybrid looked up at the approach of the Trandoshan. Assessing: ugly motherfraker. Nearly as ugly as him. Muscle definition bulging, nearly distorting frame. Scaly brown skin, golden eyes.
Bit a rock.
What the frak.
It probably eats like a pleb.
Also it is nannering at him. Why.
Huffing air out his slit nostrils, Foxen picked up his datapad he already had out for contact with his contact, and saved the partially composed letter to Flyndt. Opening a new window, he typed and turned it around to the overly friendly invader. Might as well pick a brain.
Not from here. Looking for intel. Will pay if good. How’s the mining scene? Paid workforce? Mercenary? Indentured/slave?
“money you say?!”
*Jux licks his lips at the thought of extra credits in his pockets"
“Mining scene pretty good. You keep what you get. No slaves here as far as I’m concerned. People usually come here to get rare gems and crystals. If you’re rich enough you can hire your own men to go into the mines and die from the fumes.”
Whispers “they don’t know proper equipment protocols.”
Normal voice “However, if you’re looking for someone who is willing to do the work for you I might share under one condition. It’s a 30-70 split. I keep the 70. If you’re hiring for a job, I’ll do it for the right pay!”
Foxen narrowed red lidless eyes at the lizard. While credits weren’t particularly a concern to him, agreeing to a bargain overly easily showed weakness. Besides, he didn’t have much need for the thing’s brawn.
Although.
Crystals were shiny. Flyndt liked shiny things. Possible sub-mission.
“Hrm,” he grunts, and types back.
To clarify, you’re saying you know people here who I can hire, and you’ll tell me about them for pay? I’m on my own job. Don’t want to hire. Want to find the people getting hired and doing the hiring. Think you can help with that?
*Jux’ s pupils widen to a significant degree and starts to chuckle"
“Help? I can get you details on them so insignificant and so scandalous that would want them back. The barons are the ones you want to go to. Me, myself? Don’t trust them. They’re lookin for something specific. If anyone can find it, then…”
slams fists on table “BAM…Im a rich man and I can get off this forsaken rock and do what I’ve always wanted to do. I am a business man with a business plan. If I help you, what do I get in return?”
Barons? Did he want to get involved with barons? On this trip? He didn’t even bring a suit.
Nevermind whatever the frak this lizard wanted.
But local intel was local intel, and – he checked his Chrono – his contact was fraking late.
There would be questions. If Rzzz’t thought the years had softened him, they were going to find reality unpleasant.
He considers.
I’ve got a ship to get you off this shit hole. I’ll take you to the nearest trade hub. Might even help you with what you’re looking for, if it’s here somewhere. But I want contacts and information. Don’t care what you think is insignificant or not; I’ll sort through it myself. You get me an in on Intel for anything mercenary passing through this rock in the last 10 years, then you get my services. And I’m good.
jux walks next to both characters in an attempt to pickpocket the pair of mercenaries
“I can see us becoming great friends in the future!”
Foxen did not miss the Trandoshan going for the dummy pouch of credits he kept out in the open on his belt for the express purpose of distracting pickpockets from more useful searching.
But just because that was the point didn’t mean he was going to forgive it.
The Nautolan lashed out his hand, a knife already in the opposite, intending to capture and pin by the blade. His fist closed on empty air, however.
Woah there friend! We were just having a friendly conversation. Now lets all calm down and talk for a bit.
pats his blaster
This is my favorite bar, and i wouldnt want to kill such nice people.
Foxen used his free hand to draw his own pistol and point it, no patting necessary. The other, still holding the knife, uncurled one middle finger to standing, a universal signal of what he thought about killing anything in this bar.
screams and Jux throws his blaster at Foxen
“Dont kill me please!”
The blaster pistol smacked into the massive Nautolan’s chest and bounced off his table and underneath it in the booth with a clatter. Foxen just…stared. As if flabbergasted. The blaster didn’t even go off, so either it was lucky or the safety had still been on.
“Hrm,” grunted Foxen, and made the knife disappear back into its sheath, gesturing with his own gun – very much loaded and hammer cocked – to the seat across from him. His pierced brow quirked.
“keep the gun…let me live, ill do anything.”
inches closer to the gun
The Nautolan huffed through his nostrils, gesturing more emphatically for Jux to sit. He tapped his datapad in indication, then his throat.
sticks my finger in the gun and sits down
“Phew! Situation defused”
Foxen stared. And stared. And legitimately debated just shooting.
Waste of a bullet.
He pulled the pistol back and very blatantly began cleaning the barrel of any finger soiling in silence. Only when he was done did he reholster it and then type on his pad.
That was fraking stupid of you. No more ride off this rock. Give me the information on these barons and I’ll consider whether or not I’m going to teach you how long it takes pieces of you to grow back. Because I know, lizard. I’ve taken your kind apart before. Do you?
sigh
fortunately, for you I do know how long is takes. Approximately a week depending on what’s lost. Also, lizard is harmful. It’s like if I called you some other term other than your name. Anyway, Information doesn’t come cheap. But hey.
Grabs a rock and starts to chew on it between jagged teeth
Not my business right?
So, let’s do business. What information do you need?
Start with any other mercs you know. Then these barons. Then we’ll see.
Foxen sat back idly, for all the world appearing a relaxed stone statue, carved there. Though his gun and knife had gone away, he still exuded a blank, predatory aura.
“Why not just shoot me now and save you the trouble? I might lie. I’ve already tried to steal from you and there my gun at you. I’m unarmed as far as you know. Probably should get it over with and get out of here before the guards come running in.”
The Nautolan considered. Checked one more time for a message from his contact, then put up his pad. He stood.
Absolutely right, he signed, and pointed the lizard’s own blaster between his yellow eyes, trigger and handle wrapped in a bar napkin. Point blank, he fired until the power pack heated and the bulky skull before him was a partially vaporized bowl. Flesh smoked and dripped from the edges.
Unblinking, Foxen waited a moment more, then aimed down and fired thrice into the chest cavity.
Trandoshans were bitches. And jediit near immortal. Being certain, relatively, was always preferred.
Tossing the blaster, he brushed off his trousers from the general grimy air of the booth seat, paid out the tab of one drink for a very stupid individual who hadn’t shown up, and made for the door, staring down anyone with broken enough instincts to meet his gaze for 2.3 seconds. His pace was casual, and smartly, no patron nor proprietor tried to stop him. At the exit he turns 57° and stares at the bartender/owner for 6 seconds, shaking his head slowly, once. Watches the male swallow and nod back, drop glass.
Acceptable, for now.
Foxen stepped back out into the stupid fraking sun, thinking about whether or not to include this update in his letter. Any perhaps to find something pretty. One of those geodes?
Hrm.
.