Once more, as ever, the Shame Corner was open for business. New year, new shift. Staff and customers alike milled about. The coolers were stocked up with their usual offerings, including a new peach cider that was generating quite the buzz among aficionados. The ever-impressive array of jerky selections was ready for people to grab. It was still a bestseller among the people on long transport hauls. The floors were recently cleaned and food freshly prepared, the caf brewing constantly to handle the flow of patrons. All the smells mixed together in the air to create something alluring for weary travelers.
Zxyl Bes'uliik had docked Manda'lor’s Skira in the hangar bay cluster nearest The Shame Corner’s promenade and market section - or the closest thing to it in reality - and quickly disembarked the modified Haulcraft. Making contact with the bay’s starship technician, he paid - in advance of course - for the Skira to be refueled and its power cells recharged. The Dathomirian-Mandalorian was on task, currently en-route to the Core on a bounty for some poor Duro financier that had fallen behind on his debt. A simple hunt, retrieve and collect; but the former Regent of the Brotherhood had chosen to wait until the last moment to stock for the journey - intentionally making a stop at the station. With the starship technician dealt with, the Mandalorian General left the area without doing an immediate scan of the bay cluster’s central area before moving on towards the market.
Some things, of course, were easier to find in the market than others. Power cells, regular run-of-the-mill food supplies and rations, basic mechanical supplies like bolts or simple durasteel plating, Bes'uliik unfortunately needed a restock of everything. Having recently commissioned an arc forge on the Skira, the Naur'alor was completing all manner of items at a much more frequent and faster pace than before. Ever the tinkerer, when the Mandalorian wasn’t on the hunt he was usually cooped up in the forge. Still, it wasn’t very long before he completed his laundry list of acquisitions, and moved onto his next goal; a drink, with maybe some very light socializing. Whatever he could handle at the time. He hadn’t done much of that since leaving The Council, almost fading into the background and obscurity as he moved back into the role of a hunter and less leader of a galactic corporation that demanded his entire attention.
The Dagger, carrying its owner - the Jedi Master Ilvicar Sephtis - had also recently docked to The Shame Corner. The modified Dynamic-class Freighter’s dark blue and grey color scheme would have nearly blended in with the stars as it coasted into the nearest docking station were it not for the ship’s large, singular engine exhaust port. The weary Shaevalian-Echani half-breed had just finished his own hunt, eliminating a wayward Rancor on a planet it straight up should not have been on. He still hadn’t figured out how it had gotten there, but that wasn’t exactly his job, either; Sephtis’ job was to hunt the thing.
The white-haired, scruffy looking Jedi Crusader had perused the market for what seemed like an eternity, mostly keeping his head down and not particularly looking around. He kept a close watch on Heir and White Fang as they hung from his belt, not entirely sure why he thought someone would nick them from him here. The station was a lot of things, but a hive of scum and villiany? Nah.
Once the Jedi Shadow had finished gathering what he needed; a very modest amount of provisions, given how lightly the man travelled, he decided to hang out in the marketspace and continue browsing - seeing what more exotic things The Shame Corner had to offer. This was, after all, one of his very first trips to the station and he hadn’t exactly explored anything inside thus far.
Weyr had found himself again at Shame Corner. “You know Laoch, I think I’m beginning to like this place.”
The baby Keeradak let out a “Rawrp” in response as it flew onto Weyr’s shoulder and perched itself. Weyr rose up from the cockpit of his spacecraft and made his way down the ramp to the cleaning kiosk nearby. As usual, he selected the complete wash, refuel, wax and dry for the ship to be done while he was out. After using his credit chip, he put it back into the inside pocket of his overcoat and made his way into the main hub.
Having been here before, he decided to take a look first at clothing. Making his way to the shop, he passed the information desk and went to the right as he came to a storefront that had some models displaying clothing. Smiling to himself, he went inside to browse the aisles for a nice duster jacket to wear.
Somehow, over the years, the place had accumulated… things.
Tchotchkes.
The air smelled of stale caf, heavy grease, and unwashed bodies, but Socorra stood explicitly still near one of the side racks. Helmet tucked under one arm, her good eye narrowed in open fascination. A rotating display of nonsense blinked and chirped back at her. Miniature repulsor racers that zipped in lazy circles. A plush nexu with glowstick eyes. A cheap vibroknife-shaped spoon that made engine noises when shaken.
She picked the spoon up and turned it over, shaking it once. It whined like a dying astromech.
Her mouth twitched. Absolutely not.
She set it down carefully and moved on, boots slow on the deck plating.
There was a rack of holographic puzzle cubes, colors shifting when touched. She pressed one with her thumb. It reconfigured itself immediately, lights snapping into a new pattern.
That earned a quiet hum of approval. The boys - Turi and his cousin - might actually like it. She mentally cataloged it as something sharp-minded and infuriating. Then again, she weighed the cube in her palm; it was just heavy enough for a toddler to turn into a projectile.
Her attention drifted again, pulled by motion. A bin of cheap wind-up creatures skittered when disturbed.
She crouched slightly, reaching in to retrieve a squat little loth-cat with oversized ears and mismatched legs. One eye was painted on crooked. It rattled when she shook it.
Socorra stared at it for a long moment, imagining it in small hands, then set it aside with care, forming a growing pile on the counter.
The Sith-Mandalorian stood surrounded by blinking plastic nonsense, a symphony of chaos playing all around her. Today she was not shopping for weapons; she was shopping for joy.
And somehow, this felt harder.
Liberty 1, cockpit
Treel and his merry band of Ugnaught launderers and dry cleaners arrived back at the Shame Corner at around 0700h on Monday, just as they had every week for roughly the past 4 months.
The last few weeks business had seen the most profitable runs that the TKC Textile Company had had since beginning operations. The sales numbers had been buoyed by the addition of a second converted Sheathipede(operating its own route), and had seen Treel and Co.‘s take of the profits soar to over 30k credits for each week. They easily afforded the new combat vessel that was capable of pulling off the long planned rescue of their kinsfolk from Pytali Prime. Treels younger brother and nephew had picked up the StarSpeeder 1000 and rendevoused with them just before they left their last port of call.
All that remained was to secure a week off from their Laundry business duties from Kalen. Treel decided he would make the call to his partner today. But first, he had to secure more of the delectible and delicious Jerky from the Shame Corner. The increase in morale and esprit de corps caused by the smoked, dried meats the last time they were on the station made securing more of it a serious priority for mission success on the covert rescue op they were about to embark on.
Liberty 1 and Textile Cleaning Vessel #27 landed in the large main hangar of the Shame Corner, and the laundry shuttles crew began setting up to recieve customers as usual, meanwhile Treels brother and nephew remained in the StarSpeeder and continued prepping weapons, explosives, and other gear they would need for their mission.
Treel donned his cute little pink and blue cape and made his way into the central hub of the station.
“Is the Manager of this facility available? I have a proposal to discuss with them. I have spoken.” Treel said to the cashier/sales associate as he filled one of the large wicker baskets with Jerky as he had before.
He placed two 100 credit notes in the ‘pay here’ jar and then stared stoically at the cashier.
“My manager? Or the station manager?” The cashier asked.
Treel slowly exhaled. It was his own mistake for not being precise enough with his request that was causing him to have to restate the request.
“I’d like to chat with the manager in charge of all commercial activities aboard this station please.” Treel reiterated.
The shuttle barely lingered before lifting off again. Leaving its passengers to scatter into the station. Morvyn stepped down last and paused at the end of the ramp. He took in the noise and the layered smells of grease and sugar.
Rules scrolled across holoscreens in mismatched colors. He read them once and moved on.
He carried a light load today. There was no pack or no visible weapons. Whatever he had stayed hidden and tucked in. He let the foot traffic draw him into the shops. He walked near the edge of the crowd. Making sure to stay out of the main flow but not hidden.
The togruta Sith didn’t reach for the Force. He briefly scanned the crowd, but relaxed once more. He was not here for a reason that required haste. This was just a stop in between.
Morvyn settled into stillness, watching the station move around him, leaving space for whatever or whoever decided to fill it.
The cashier looked at the Ugnaught for a moment, bewilderment flashing briefly across his face. It was rare that someone came in and asked to see a manager out of the blue - practically unheard of. And he had seen a lot that the galaxy had to offer during her time on the station. Still, this didn’t seem like something he could turn away, not without possible consequences. It was above her pay grade.
“Just a moment, please,” the cashier responded while he pressed a button on the register. It would send an alert to management that he needed assistance.
Elsewhere, Avalon’s datapad chimed with a notification. The pale-skinned woman brushed her hair behind her ear as she checked it. Taking note of where it originated, she set down her tea and got up, heading out into the station proper. Making her way to the registers, she saw where a small line was beginning to form. She instructed the people to move to another register before approaching the two.
“My name is Avalon and I’m one of the managers here,” she addressed the Ugnaught. “How can I help you?”
“I would like to engage this station in a lease or rental of space large enough to accommodate my laundry business. We have chosen the…Shame Corner as the location for our first non-mobile location. I have spoken.” Treel said to the Manager who was nearly twice his size and weight.
Avalon tilted her head slightly, caught off guard by the statement. She placed her hand on her hip as she thought. Of course she was familiar with the laundry service that had been set up. The business had been doing well and the customers that made use of it would frequently talk about it. And they were always open to expanding what they offered for the people that stopped in.
“An interesting proposal. There is some unused space we have at the moment. I think we can work something out.”
“Shall we exchange commlinks so that we may discuss the particulars?” Treel said. Doing his best to sound like an affable basic speaking simpleton(which was how he viewed most verbal dominant humanoids)
“Yes, of course. I’m sure we can come to an agreement about the use of the space,” Avalon replied. She pulled out her datapad and gave it a few taps. “You should have it now.”
“Appreciations. I will send you our list of requirements and neccesary alterations or permissions this evening. I would like to see the unused spaces you have available now.”
“Sure. There’s only 2 spots that I can think of that could accommodate a business with the appliances and machinery I saw aboard your shuttle. There’s that corner area over there, next to the bar, see that partition on the left, that whole corner could easily be turned into a storefront. Probably 550 square feet of floor space once its enclosed.” Avalon said pointing towards the area and then pausing before turning and pointing to around spot in the large open commercial hub of the station.
“And then there’s the area around the old customer service booth, see, next to the Droid Bath House. That whole section inbetween there and the nap shack is open. The only reason it was left open was for access to the service corridor in behind there, but it has 3 other entrances and no one ever uses that door over there. So that could be your rear entrance/access.”
“I appreciate the words we have shared thus far. We wish to use that one, next to the droid bath. Inform me of the monthly or yearly cost and I am willing to sign a 1 year tenancy contract.” Treel let the feintest hint of a smile cross his lips.
It had been some time now since she last was able to stop by the Corner. How long had it been? A month or more certainly. So much had happened, so much continued to happen and finally the small Hifh Councillor had had enough. Even just a trip for jerky and fudge was going to be able to help her general mood.
Her only company on this trip was a painfully slender young woman in robes so black they almost seemed to absorb the light around them. Her lips carried the same black tone, making her pale skin and violet hair almost luminescent.
“Master,” the young woman said softly. “Why are we here?”
The Kyataran smiled at her companion and pointed, knowing that the blindfolded girl could see more than just about anyone. “This is a place of bounty, Via. Inside these walls is snacks, drinks, companionship, and caf.”
Vianya tilted her head to the side, listening t each word with the solemnity of a priest. “I see.”
Miho hit the button that opened up the back hatch of the shuttle. “Come on, let’s get you some caf, me some jerky and maybe we’ll run into Reiden again. I kept forgetting to call him while everything was going on.”
The taller woman nodded and got to her feet slowly. “Yes, Master.”
“I do wish you would stop calling me that. But, we can fight about it more later.”
The two seemed an odd pairing. The unrelieved black of one, the very alive green coat of the other. “Yes, Master.”
A heavy sigh and the soft stomp of well-made boots was Miho’s only response as she exited their shuttle and headed towards the entrance of the Corner.
After returning to the laundry shuttle Treel made his way to the cockpit and opened a comm channel to his business partner Kalen.
“Treel, how you doing?” Kalen said as he answered the call.
“I am well. I am calling to inform you that I have engaged the mangement of the Shame Corner for the purposes of securing a location for our first non mobile laundry business. I will forward the particulars to you when they have been finalized. I am also requesting a 7 day leave of absence for myself and 2 of my fellow crewmates.” Treel said in his standard flat tone.
“Uh, ok, sure. When do you need the time off?”
“Our leave of absence will begin tomorrow at 0700h. I have arranged for a member of the crew of the other shuttle to report aboard the Textile Cleaning Vessel #27 at that time which will ensure that business operations will continue as usual.” Treel added.
“Alright, sounds good…is everything alright? 1 day is a bit short notice for a leave of absekce, but if you have things covered thats fine.”
“Currently things are not alright, but the leave of absence is meant to rectify the situation…on that note. I would like to inform you that we will be using the leave to mount a rescue operation on the planet Kellata, where we will liberate approximately 37 of our kin from bondage and indentured servitude. I see it as appropriate to inform of this because the operation will be conducted near the territory of the Confederacy of the Outer Worlds which I know you and your compatriots are members of.” Treel said sounding almost sullen.
“Oh…uh…Kellata the pleasure planet? Who is holding your family members in bondage?” Kalen inquired.
“Yes, that Kellata. And the current government there are the ones holding my kin, under an illigitimate and fruadulant contract they claim that we signed with them several years ago.” Treel informed the Jedi.
“Hmmm, well, in that case, do you want a hand? My new Outreach Corps is actually embarking on an anti-piracy and good will patrol
As we speak, and we’ll actually be passing nearby Kellata in about 6 days. And rescuing people from involuntary servitude at the hands of a tyrannical regime is the exact type of thing that our mandate includes.“ Kalen offered. The planet Kellata was not a member of the Confederacy, and was widely known as a elitist haven that was run by a corrupt and dictatorial regime that valued their own profits and luxurious lifestyles above all else. It was just the sort of thing his Corps was supposed to do.
"You’re assistance will be greatly appreciated…I will contact tomorrow and we can discuss the details more thoroughly.” Treel said.
Just fly casual.
And why wouldn’t he? This was just a waystation. Not like he was on a mission or in enemy space or any number of questionable variables that would form the recipe for a no good very bad time.
No, Liran was just stopping off to refuel, have a breather, and maybe stretch his legs. Mostly that part. Do you know how cramped an X-Wing gets? Even a T-85—which is how many iterations?—is still a solo cockpit designed for combat and not comfort. He wasn’t exactly putting his feet up and relaxing. I mean, he could put his feet up…and he did…often…but he couldn’t lean back, you know? There was no recline to provide incline.
And so, Liran transmitted the docking request for Wraith-1 and made his presence known. Loudly.
His X-wing maneuvered into the docking bay and once it hit the artificial atmosphere the vibrations were suddenly heard as heavy instruments and drums could be heard from within. With a hiss, the canopy popped open and the noise (read: music for those who weren’t uncultured swine) resounded loudly for the briefest of moments before cutting off mid-note alongside the ship’s power down.
Liran was still humming and bopping his white-red hair up and down while he managed to pull off his gloves and clip them to his hip, leaving his helmet inside the cockpit. The human quickly grasped either side of the frame and hoisted himself up, hopping into a crouch on the seat, and then up and over the edge—bypassing the ladder entirely.
“Okay,” he muttered, glancing around and wiping his palms off on his flight jacket. “This’ll be…fine?”
The Y-Wing was not a graceful flyer and did not have a particularly graceful pilot, but it was a solid and sturdy craft. Dependable. It landed where you wanted it to and didn’t feel like you were flying a glass figurine where a slight bump would shear off something important.
Out stepped a man in pure white Jedi robes, his athletic frame vaulting gracefully from the cockpit and proceeding to the station at a very slow walk, clearly new and unused to the environs. His short, dark blonde hair and beard were immaculately kempt and beyond his lightsabers and calloused knuckles, he seemed to want to project the appearance of a fop, at least in sumptuary matters and those of grooming.
He looked around, searching for somewhere to occupy his time and mind in The Shame Corner.
Weyr looked over the Duster jackets and fibally had picked a nice black one that suited him. He firdt tried it on to make sure it fit him well. Laoch had hopped off his shoulder and dashed off to another section of the store that had some pretty colored crystals on the shelves. Like a moth drawn to light, the small red and black keeradak flapped his small wings as he ascended into the air and tried to land beside the shelf to take a closer look at the pretty crystal baubles.
“Excuse me!” Dusa called out as she quickly chased down a worker.
She wasn’t here for soup this time. No. This time, it was a MUCH more dire circumstance!
It was an emergency!
“It’s my axe! I have to axe you a question! PLEASE!”
A tan skinned Zabrak with brown facial tattoos in a swirling pattern stopped in his tracks. It took him a beat before realizing what was being said, registering the pun.
Oh, that’s actually quite clever.
Darnoh turned around to greet the woman. “Hello. How can we help you today?”
Dusa pulled out her axe, holding it tenderly and shaking. The way she was reacting, you would think it would crumble at a mere touch.
“It has a crack in the wood!”
To the untrained and, honestly, trained eye, you would not be able to see the crack. You would see a microscope.
“Here-” She shoved a magnifying glass into the Zabraks hands and pointed to the area, “you see it don’t you!?” Eyes started to fill to the brim with tears.
Darnoh accepted the magnifying glass, fumbling with it for a moment, before peering at the wood through its lens. He was far out of his depth with this, but he would do his best. As he squinted, he thought he saw that there may have been something there, but he was not trained in such work and even if there was, he wouldn’t know what to do.
“Y-Yes…I think I see what you’re talking about,” he managed to say after a moment of examination. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t really something that I’m familiar with. And I’m afraid we don’t sell weapons here and only a small variety of tools, typically only those related to ship or speeder repair.” He saw the woman’s distraught face and the tears starting. He was really not the right person for this. But an idea did come to him at last. “Although there might be someone that I can put you in touch with. He produces some of the tools we use for tending to the pet area. High quality, good craftsmanship. Based on Kashyyyk. Lovely shop, really. Built into one of the giant trees there, if you can believe it.”
Dusa gasped and yanked the poor fellow into a hug.
“You are too precious for this world!” She dramatically sobbed. “Give me his comms. Let me buy you some soup, last time I was here, they had axcellent soup. It really hit the bullseye.”
Darnoh nearly yelped in surprise, doing his best to stifle the sound. He was not used to such sudden embraces, especially not ones that came from customers. Not sure what to do, and not wanting to get in trouble either, he hesitantly patted the woman on the back.
“It’s just part of the job, but I’m happy that I may have been able to help.” He extricated himself from the hug and tapped at his datapad. “Let’s see here… Yes, there it is. Quintal Bresh. And this is his comms code.”
Another tap and a swipe, and the code was sent to her. “I’m afraid I can’t take you up on your offer of food. With some staff taking some personal time, I simply have too much to do. But I encourage you to get some! It really is some of the best I’ve had.”