For seenitbefore

[ruane]

Never got to thank you for pulling my rear outta the gundarks' nest. So how about it? Rishi. Blaster's Path Cantina. The booze is good, but really it's the conversation you'll be interested in. I heard rumors about some new Imp hardware. I mighta got my hands on some of it. See ya later, buddy!

Commander Ruane looked the message over. Yes, it was, unfortunately, just annoying and arrogant enough that it would believably pass for Folan Tirise's writing. The smuggler was as real as the Corellian accent that Ruane faked when pretending to be him. Which was to say, not at all. Oh, the records were real enough. There were even those who'd swear they served with Lieutenant Folan Tirise during the Clone Wars. Ruane had been serving Lord Sidius for some time, after all, and the alias had been painstakingly maintained in case his Master needed him to go undercover. Very often, he did.

Ruane set the message to send through the Grinning Spectre's computer, to be relayed through half a dozen holonet relays before it finally reached its destination. Ideally, it would at least hide where the smuggler's ship was at the moment. Above Coruscant, in the heart of the Empire. Ruane turned and began getting his gear together. He'd need to leave for Rishi as soon as possible, Whether or not Andor showed, he had business on the planet that couldn't wait.

Enemies of his Master had to be shown that they couldn't run.

Later, a supposedly beat up old Corellian freighter landed on Rishi. The battered hull and interior hid the heavy modification that went into the freighter. Most of the ship's systems were state of the art, one or two only available through Imperial channels or via expensive black market dealers. In a place like the jungle pirate haven of Rishi, the battered old ship didn't stand out, though, and that was what mattered. Dressed in a caped red, black, and white outfit that wasn't in the least bit subtle, Captain Folan Tirise whistled as he headed off towards the cantina. A pair of blasters were obvious at his hips. The ever-present Selkath electrostaff was the only odd bit of equipment. The wickedly curved blades at each end stood out and were a noticeable link to his true Imperial Guard identity. But he hated leaving it behind. Should things go wrong, he was more deadly with the electrostaff than even with the blasters.

He nodded to one or two of the birdlike natives, the Rishi. They found the pirates fascinating, and their live and let live philosophy allowed crime...and rebellion to thrive here in the Outer Rim. Folan saw one or two pirates he recognized, White Maw pirates who picked over the remains of ships on the frozen hellscape of Hoth. He kept his head down. It wouldn't do for them to recognize him. He hadn't left their band in good shape the last time they met.

When he reached the Blaster's Path, he immediately went downstairs, into the cantina proper, where dancers twirled to live music and the lighting was darker and easier to disappear for a while. He settled into a corner table to wait.

Comments

[seenitbefore]

Even for a watchful eye, it's difficult to pinpoint exactly when he arrives. The light is low, the music complex and repetitive, the man himself as unobtrusive as the smuggler captain is flamboyant. Sira Dotharrn is a go-between, a man who conducts other people's business, slight, drab, quiet. Not quite a nonentity - no sapient being is that; he's had a couple of passing involvements with other humanoid males, is doggedly loyal to his employers, prides himself on plain speaking.

"I am not your buddy," he says without preamble, sliding into a seat.

[ruane]

The smuggler is way more subdued and businesslike while he's folded into the cantina booth with an untouched mug of ale. His Corellian accent is still obvious, but there's a sharp intelligence there that he usually hides behind a brash and cocky demeanor. "Yeah? I think when you see what I have, we might at least be more friendly." He pulls a datapad from his pocket. "Black Sun was interested in buying, but I think you and I both know Black Sun is just as likely to decide paying is more trouble than disposing of a body. 'Bout as bad as working for Imps, honestly, except with less potential jail time." He pulled up a schematic on the datapad and passed it over to the other man. "That? Is the schematics for a new kind of turbolaser the Imps are going to. Slices through normal shielding like it's barely there. It uses a lot of power, so it'll probably only be on the big Star Destroyers, but think of the havoc that'll cause when it's deployed. I've already modified my ship's shields to account for it, but even then, I doubt I could take more than a couple hits."

He takes a sip of his ale. "So how about it? Pal? Know someone who'll take that off my hands without leaving me bleeding out in a back alley?"

[seenitbefore]

Dark eyes take in the information, giving nothing back but reflections. The face shows little more. "Those sound like surprisingly generous terms. You might want to be more specific." He doesn't crack anything close to a smile, and the tone is flatter than the tabletop between them. From Sira, it's practically genial.

[ruane]

"Look, I didn't even expect to get outta the Moff's ship with that, much less be discussing terms. Old man is more of a spice addict than I thought." The smuggler shrugged. "I know a couple Imps with spice habits. One of 'em was threatening me last time he got an order in. Said I cheated him. I did, but hell, everyone's gotta make a credit where they can right?"

Ruane shrugged and took a sip of his ale. Corellian ale wasn't strong enough to get any human truly drunk. It was a good thing, because Ruane preferred his senses untouched by drink entirely. A sip or two wouldn't harm that. Unfortunately, Folan Tirise would have been drinking like a fish. Ruane would hope the difference wouldn't be noticed. He would rather have his wits about him. "Anyway, I wanted blackmail on the old bastard. An alien lover, an illegitimate child, a cousin in the rebellion, literally anything but that. That is gonna get me killed. So yeah, I wouldn't mind some credits for the trouble, but I want that to go away. Preferably to someone who'll do something about it, because I don't relish the thought of trying to outrun Imps armed with that. It's gonna really impact my repair bills on the Spectre."