Chp-116-Interlude
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Chp-116-Interlude
Ecressys
Velcar Sector
2.6 ABY
1 month post holo-net crisis
"...and I assure you, this will not happen again. More opportunities will come your way, of that I can promise."
The merchants and magnates arrayed before him seemed at best only slightly mollified by his words, if their grumbling was anything to go by. Still, his relief was palpable as they left the holo call one by one.
Only once he was alone in his office did his sigh. These damned merchants, couldn't they give him a break!
Sure, he'd promised them the deal of a lifetime. The entire Myto Sector, open and ripe for expansion. The deal he struck with that slimy Moff Mola was supposed to give Velcar merchants every advantage possible!
Better prices, better deals, and the ability to expand their companies into the sector as they saw fit! Sure, it was only until the holonet crisis ended, but that should've lasted months!
By the time it was over, Velcar interests would have a major power bloc in the sector, making further expansion easier. Instead, within a week most of the relays were back online, and now nearly a month later the sector was nearly back to its previous state.
But the worst part? The Velcar oligarchs kept harassing him about it! Even after all this time, they were still on his ass about his failure to ensure a good opportunity, making snide comments about getting a better Moff.
Now his position was in danger, and he was stuck there, having to appease the snakes that surrounded him.
"Master?" came a voice to his side. A Twi'lek girl, young and green skinned. He couldn't place her name yet, she hadn't been around enough for him to bother remembering it.
"What is it!" he snapped, too annoyed to even enjoy her still developing curves.
"Gregor Raquoran sent out an invitation to most Commerce Zone members for a gala in his palace. The Governor-General has been invited as well."
The slaves shaking hands held out a datapad, and he snatched it from her, waving her away with his other hand. As he read through the invitation, a growing sense of unease washed over him.
This invite wasn't for him, of course, but one his people had intercepted. Gregor was a longtime rival, the obese wall of flesh having angled for his seat for years. But Ecressys was smarter than that.
He knew Gregor would jump at this opportunity. But the Governor-General? Hiral was by and large focused on the mid-rim sections of the oversector.
No, the Governor-General wouldn't go – a representative! Less power, yet a connection to Hiral nonetheless, and more easily bribed at that!
The datapad went flying, slamming into the wall as screamed in rage. Damn that Moff Mola and his trickery!
–
Darna Sabrir
Minda System
2.7 ABY
2 months post holo-net crisis
Darna Sabrir considered herself something of a rational person.
Oh, sure, she had her moments of anger and passion. But for the most part, she maintained a professional and controlled demeanor.
After all, she was Guildmistress of the IGCPP. Her word had immense political and economic power, and it was her responsibility to wield that power with sound judgement.
Yet, as she'd already said, Darna had her moments of anger. Of passion. It was why she started HAVEN, after all. Why she worked with that stuck up ISB officer.
It was why she was cackling like a madwoman as she read the report before her.
After the Holonet crisis, HAVEN had been hard at work scouring for any possible source of the attack. The kill teams had been prepped for immediate deployment at any sign of a source.
She'd never seen Las sign off on an order so quickly. Then again, she'd never seen Las that angry.
Scared, sure. Nervous, on occasion. Tired just about all the time. But angry? It was a new one.
They hadn't found anything, though they kept looking. Agents scoured the sector, but leads were few and far in between, and had yet to lead to anything coming close to notable.
But that hadn't been the only place they'd looked. After the Velcar sector put forth that awful deal, Las had ordered HAVEN to cause a little mischief there.
The Velcar Sector, being the premier slavery capital of the Oversector, was a target HAVEN was all too happy to go after.
And the report before her detailed just that.
Nothing huge, no. That wasn't the goal. But small things. Technical malfunctions that meant the environmental regulator was a little off, so when some magnates sat down for a meeting, they were sweatier than they should've been. Uncomfortable, so to speak.
And when powerful people with too much pride and too little sense are uncomfortable, they get irritable.
That meeting hadn't devolved into a screaming match, but it had come close.
Another was paying off a waiter to bring one magnate's guest a smaller, colder portion during a dinner. The guest saw it as a slight, and stewed silently in anger while the others chatted away carefree.
These things weren't the larger info gathering operations HAVEN was used to within the Myto sector. But, given time, the ego of the slavers would do most of the work for them.
Especially when laxatives were involved. Those were her favorite to read.
The more chaos reigned in the Velcar sector, the safer Myto was. And eventually, she hoped HAVEN would have the power to start covertly freeing slaves throughout Velcar space.
A long way off, she knew. Las was many things, but reckless wasn't one of them. He'd wait, as he always did, and while she didn't always agree with his choices she respected the command structure.
After all, it ensured that Thorne, with that stick up his ass, was kept in check. Hell, the stick was probably up to Imperial regulations!
"Ma'am" came the voice of her secretary through the intercom "your shuttle is ready."
"I'll be right out." she responded, as she took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her dress was an ocean blue, with golden stars shooting across its features. Various strips of looser fabric hung from her arms and lekku, toned to lighter shades reminiscent of shallow seas
All planned, of course, as she was off to a dinner with both representatives of Abyssal Industries and Quarren United. The latter being a newcomer to the sector and wanting space on the same water-moon that Abyssal currently dominated.
After all, the Myto Sector had just become more enticing after showcasing its ability to bounce back from a crisis so easily. Business was booming, from a nascent local hyperdrive and nav-computer industry to shipyards galore, it was a true center of local commerce.
So, she was to settle the dispute over a lovely dinner, ensuring both parties got their share and played nice with local laws. Though, if she was being honest, she would be trying to get the Quarrens to stay.
They may be an isolationist species, but if they knew anything about Mon Calamari shield designs, it would be worth it.
Ife would owe her big time.
–
Jir Coru
Minda System
2.8 ABY
3 months post holo-net crisis
"Given the information arrayed before me, I will be denying your promotion to Rank IV."
Jir's voice was smooth, her assessment delivered with the crisp tone of someone used to command.
In the corner of her vision, her Yewcast Augmented Reality glasses listed cultural tonalities.
Cultural Persuasion Note: Mandalorians value honor, discipline, and martial might. Maintain eye contact and keep speech clear and concise.
Perfect. It wasn't as though she operated in any other way.
Across from her desk, a helmeted Mandalorian sat, emotionless visor staring back at her. The beskar shone in the soft lighting of the meeting room.
The lighting was reminiscent of the light of Mandalore's star, a part of the Guild's cultural accommodation. As Mandalorians wore full armor and Mandalore itself was only livable within climate controlled dome-cities, full environmental regulation was unneeded.
Better than dealing with Wookies. Kashyyyk's climate was so humid she'd had to wear a special uniform to keep from sweating or wiping her brow constantly.
"...and why is that?" His confusion was evident, laced with an almost accusatory undertone.
If Jir hadn't read the man's file beforehand, his tone of voice would've told her everything she needed to know.
"While your status as a Mandalorian Clan Mercenary does give you some benefits, it does not entitle you to advancement past Rank III without a proper promotion. And currently, while your skills are up to par for a Rank IV, your client-side skills are abysmal."
He scoffed, leaning forward as though to challenge her claim, but Jir barreled onwards. Giving abrasive types like him a chance to retaliate was always a bad idea. Her time at the academy had taught her much.
"We've received dozens of complaints from various clients regarding your conduct. Your after-action reports are barely competent. And you often leave mission sites a smoldering wreck."
"Keeping them intact is optional!"
"Not if you want a promotion. Now, it's not as though this is unfixable." She wasn't quite sure of that, but upselling was the name of the game in the Guild. Her glasses were filled with small 'side quests', as they were called.
Frivolous, but Jir excelled in all things, and that would include selling mercenaries courses on 'Intricacies of Alderaanian Baking' if that meant rising higher.
"Your client-side skills can be improved by taking this set of courses" a press of a button had the rooms miniature holoprojector light up, listing five courses on client mannerisms, common cultural taboos for the most common species and cultures, and more.
"As a Clan Mercenary these are covered by your Clan contract and should function adequately as a starting point. However, better performance can be achieved by attending our advanced courses, such as Advanced Conflict-Descalation and courses in alternative mission-completion methods."
Successfully Advertised: Advanced Courses +15GP
Another dozen courses appeared on the list, these of course being paid courses. The Mando's helmet moved slightly as he read through the list.
"Low Observability Infil-Exfil? Psychological Warfare and Fabricated Realities? Non-Lethal Subjugation and Containment? These are fools games! I am a Mandalorian, and my enemies will face the wrath of my blaster–"
"And you will stay unpromoted." Jir butted in, killing off his momentum. "Most mercenaries average out at RIII, so staying at the rank is perfectly acceptable for someone of your current competency. However, RIV members are held to higher, stricter standards. They accept more difficult missions, work in more delicate and variable environments, and are therefore expected to exude excellence."
The meeting continued, the Mandalorian bringing up more and more points, and getting shot down time and time again. At the same time, Jir ensured she continued to advertise as many things as possible.
Successfully Advertised: Tolerance Courses +15GP
Successfully Advertised: Advanced Starfighter Training +15GP
Successfully Advertised: TR-55 "Coral" Blaster Pistol +5GP
Successfully Advertised: Introduction to Alderaanian Baking +30GP
By the end of it, Jir left content with the work she had done, and the Mandalorian left without a promotion, and a schedule packed with classes.
Not to mention, she'd earned a large amount of Guild Points. That free Luxury PDA was hers! It could sell for at least 200 Credits at the right places.
At that point, the day was over. In her mind, a map appeared of her route to her apartment. She could check her PDA, of course, but it was always prudent to have a perfect mental map. You never knew.
From the office, she'd take the train down to the Kailin district to run some errands and pick up a new blaster from her contact. Unregistered, of course, the other unregistered pistol didn't have a secure enough background for her liking, it was just the cheapest she could manage.
Under her uniform, she subtly adjusted the armoring hidden beneath. A holdover from her days as an Imperial Commandant, she'd had some flexible armor plating fitted to her proportions. They fit well under this new uniform as well, and she always wore them. They were rated for low level blasters, vibroblades and variety of other threats.
From there, she'd pick up groceries from that small store on the corner run by one of the Tula natives. They only sold native foodstuffs, and at least for the moment got tax breaks to help integration making their products cheaper. She already had backup options ready for when said tax break ended.
After that, it would only be a quick stop at– "Hey Jir!"
Annoyance settled across her mind even as a polite smile graced her features. "Hello, Melandre."
The Torgruta just smiled that blinding, irritating smile of hers. "Me and the others were going out for a drink or two. You want in?"
No, Jir thought, I don't want in. "I see no reason why not."
But what she wanted wasn't relevant here. What she needed was an in.
This so called 'friend group' had been remarkably difficult to ingratiate herself to. But her progress on other fronts was stalled, so this was her best bet. Make 'friends' here, and use them to rise up the ranks.
That was how she found herself in a bar, two hours and three drinks later.
"...and then she came back, holding a blaster twice her size, asking if it was regulation!"
Jir hadn't thought Colber was one for comedy, but once drunk apparently she was. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard someone laughing alongside the others.
The joke was funny, she thought. Outloud, she said–
"Ha! Tha's a sharp one. Wha's a good circuit-burner, an' da's no slaggin' lie. Har'ly breathed, I did."
The others stopped, eyes staring at her. What? She thought, I just said–
Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't say 'the joke was funny'. Her eyes darted to the menu a second slower than she would've liked.
She hadn't read the alcohol percentage. Melandre had ordered for all of them.
The others were still staring. Her heart was beating faster now. She let the accent out. In a quick motion, under the table, she brought a fingernail down hard on the soft flesh between her index finger and thumb.
Pain emanated from the nerve point, washing over her, the adrenaline fighting back just a bit against the inebriation.
"I gotta–I must be on my way." she said abruptly, already on her feet. She heard questions, a protest or two, but it didn't matter. Her bag was around her shoulder and she was gone.
First, into the bathroom. She ran the sink cold, filled it up and plunged her whole head in, waiting a few seconds without breathing to activate more of her fight or flight response.
After that, she took the back exit. Her mental map wouldn't be reliable. Instead, she plotted the quickest route to her apartment using her PDA. A quick few button presses overlaid the route onto her glasses. Her personal ones, of course.
From there, she was off. Her mind focused on one thing at a time. Stay no more than 6 inches from the nearest wall, walk straight, keep all items of value in your bag, and your bag held with both arms.
Yet, a part of her mind didn't focus on that. Instead, it reran that moment at the bar over and over again. Berating her, mocking her. Telling her she never really left Coruscant, did she. Not truly.
A part of her would always live in those tunnels.
The route was longer than normal, on account of the metro that normally connected right with her building being maintained. Instead, she was forced to navigate the city by foot.
She could've taken another form of public transit, but in that moment her mind was focusing on as few variables as possible. The less she had to track, the fewer chances for the inebriation to cause problems.
The longer route took her through mostly main streets. However, a few necessitated shorter paths, cutting through the narrow alleys of the city between the shadows of skyscrapers.
It was in one such alley that someone tried to mug her.
He was tall, human looking, though most other details escaped her. He was talking, something about money or whatnot. It didn't matter. She didn't back down from fools like this.
Out of pocket came a knife. Shit. She wasn't going to be fast enough to draw on him.
Instead, she backed up into the wall behind her. Removing any chance of flanking, and anchoring her. Inebriation would just make fancy footwork and dodging impossible.
Her arms started to come up, a defensive posture. Catch the blade on her arm, get him as he overextended. Then the blade started to hum.
Vibroblade.
She raised her arms higher, extending outwards closer to eye level. If that thing hit her arms she'd lose one. Better to let the armor tank it.
The man lunged, arm extending outwards. It hit, buzzing noise slicing through the air.
Instead of gutting her like a fish, the blade caught on her armor, shredding the cloth above.
He started to pull back, readying another stab but she was already on him, hand on his head, fingers scrabbling–
A scream ripped through the night, painful and high.
Her thumb was in his eyesocket, glove only barely muting the sensation as the eye popped beneath her finger. The sudden pressure brought heat with it, blood and intraoculur gel flooding into the cavity.
The other eye went next, the Jir bringing her other hand to bear. The mugger hadn't stopped screaming, blade already dropped on the ground as his hands rushed up to his face, desperate to stop the pain.
As he tumbled down, body spasming in agony, Jir went for the weapon. It slid easily into his heart, no more resistance than poking a finger through paper.
She left it there. The gloves ensured no prints would be left behind, and keeping a murder weapon was always a bad idea. Instead, she removed the gloves, hiding them in her bag as she left the alley post-haste.
It took another twenty minutes, but she arrived at her apartment. Tired, drunk, and feeling as though the world was coming apart.
Part of her wanted to curl up in her bed and cry like she used to. Back when she was dragging herself through Imperial society from the underworld, every day feeling like it was all coming apart around her, a crisis that never ended.
But she was better than that now. Even drunk, she refused to wallow in misery. Instead, she took up her PDA and added a note to it. She was buying Insta-Focus shots ASAP, so as to avoid this inebriation fiasco in the future.
Jir had worked too hard, buried too many bodies, to let this be her end.
That little girl in the sunless underside died down there, and it would stay that way.
–
Yo. Did a lot of research for this part. For Ecressys, I dug into the psychology of slavers, specifically chattel slavers in the American South. Very interesting stuff, saw themselves as almost paternal figures, had a whole system of honor. Very 'you are courting death junior brother!' vibe.
As for Jir, I actually based her off my own mom. Not in the sense that my mom is a bad person, far from it. But in the sense that my mom came to America with no English skills and through sheer perseverance dragged herself into graduating from a great college with honors in the 90's with a major accent. Not easy. And while Jir has had an objectively harder life, many lessons could be learned. Its why I chose to give Jir an underworld accent of sorts she hides.
Honestly, I straight up interviewed my mom on her life to write Jir better, and while it doesn't all come across here, it will in future appearances. Its super interesting the things a harsh life does to people, like for example making them super goal oriented, at least in my mom and Jir's case.
-Freefaller
Ecressys
Velcar Sector
2.6 ABY
1 month post holo-net crisis
"...and I assure you, this will not happen again. More opportunities will come your way, of that I can promise."
The merchants and magnates arrayed before him seemed at best only slightly mollified by his words, if their grumbling was anything to go by. Still, his relief was palpable as they left the holo call one by one.
Only once he was alone in his office did his sigh. These damned merchants, couldn't they give him a break!
Sure, he'd promised them the deal of a lifetime. The entire Myto Sector, open and ripe for expansion. The deal he struck with that slimy Moff Mola was supposed to give Velcar merchants every advantage possible!
Better prices, better deals, and the ability to expand their companies into the sector as they saw fit! Sure, it was only until the holonet crisis ended, but that should've lasted months!
By the time it was over, Velcar interests would have a major power bloc in the sector, making further expansion easier. Instead, within a week most of the relays were back online, and now nearly a month later the sector was nearly back to its previous state.
But the worst part? The Velcar oligarchs kept harassing him about it! Even after all this time, they were still on his ass about his failure to ensure a good opportunity, making snide comments about getting a better Moff.
Now his position was in danger, and he was stuck there, having to appease the snakes that surrounded him.
"Master?" came a voice to his side. A Twi'lek girl, young and green skinned. He couldn't place her name yet, she hadn't been around enough for him to bother remembering it.
"What is it!" he snapped, too annoyed to even enjoy her still developing curves.
"Gregor Raquoran sent out an invitation to most Commerce Zone members for a gala in his palace. The Governor-General has been invited as well."
The slaves shaking hands held out a datapad, and he snatched it from her, waving her away with his other hand. As he read through the invitation, a growing sense of unease washed over him.
This invite wasn't for him, of course, but one his people had intercepted. Gregor was a longtime rival, the obese wall of flesh having angled for his seat for years. But Ecressys was smarter than that.
He knew Gregor would jump at this opportunity. But the Governor-General? Hiral was by and large focused on the mid-rim sections of the oversector.
No, the Governor-General wouldn't go – a representative! Less power, yet a connection to Hiral nonetheless, and more easily bribed at that!
The datapad went flying, slamming into the wall as screamed in rage. Damn that Moff Mola and his trickery!
–
Darna Sabrir
Minda System
2.7 ABY
2 months post holo-net crisis
Darna Sabrir considered herself something of a rational person.
Oh, sure, she had her moments of anger and passion. But for the most part, she maintained a professional and controlled demeanor.
After all, she was Guildmistress of the IGCPP. Her word had immense political and economic power, and it was her responsibility to wield that power with sound judgement.
Yet, as she'd already said, Darna had her moments of anger. Of passion. It was why she started HAVEN, after all. Why she worked with that stuck up ISB officer.
It was why she was cackling like a madwoman as she read the report before her.
After the Holonet crisis, HAVEN had been hard at work scouring for any possible source of the attack. The kill teams had been prepped for immediate deployment at any sign of a source.
She'd never seen Las sign off on an order so quickly. Then again, she'd never seen Las that angry.
Scared, sure. Nervous, on occasion. Tired just about all the time. But angry? It was a new one.
They hadn't found anything, though they kept looking. Agents scoured the sector, but leads were few and far in between, and had yet to lead to anything coming close to notable.
But that hadn't been the only place they'd looked. After the Velcar sector put forth that awful deal, Las had ordered HAVEN to cause a little mischief there.
The Velcar Sector, being the premier slavery capital of the Oversector, was a target HAVEN was all too happy to go after.
And the report before her detailed just that.
Nothing huge, no. That wasn't the goal. But small things. Technical malfunctions that meant the environmental regulator was a little off, so when some magnates sat down for a meeting, they were sweatier than they should've been. Uncomfortable, so to speak.
And when powerful people with too much pride and too little sense are uncomfortable, they get irritable.
That meeting hadn't devolved into a screaming match, but it had come close.
Another was paying off a waiter to bring one magnate's guest a smaller, colder portion during a dinner. The guest saw it as a slight, and stewed silently in anger while the others chatted away carefree.
These things weren't the larger info gathering operations HAVEN was used to within the Myto sector. But, given time, the ego of the slavers would do most of the work for them.
Especially when laxatives were involved. Those were her favorite to read.
The more chaos reigned in the Velcar sector, the safer Myto was. And eventually, she hoped HAVEN would have the power to start covertly freeing slaves throughout Velcar space.
A long way off, she knew. Las was many things, but reckless wasn't one of them. He'd wait, as he always did, and while she didn't always agree with his choices she respected the command structure.
After all, it ensured that Thorne, with that stick up his ass, was kept in check. Hell, the stick was probably up to Imperial regulations!
"Ma'am" came the voice of her secretary through the intercom "your shuttle is ready."
"I'll be right out." she responded, as she took one last look at herself in the mirror. Her dress was an ocean blue, with golden stars shooting across its features. Various strips of looser fabric hung from her arms and lekku, toned to lighter shades reminiscent of shallow seas
All planned, of course, as she was off to a dinner with both representatives of Abyssal Industries and Quarren United. The latter being a newcomer to the sector and wanting space on the same water-moon that Abyssal currently dominated.
After all, the Myto Sector had just become more enticing after showcasing its ability to bounce back from a crisis so easily. Business was booming, from a nascent local hyperdrive and nav-computer industry to shipyards galore, it was a true center of local commerce.
So, she was to settle the dispute over a lovely dinner, ensuring both parties got their share and played nice with local laws. Though, if she was being honest, she would be trying to get the Quarrens to stay.
They may be an isolationist species, but if they knew anything about Mon Calamari shield designs, it would be worth it.
Ife would owe her big time.
–
Jir Coru
Minda System
2.8 ABY
3 months post holo-net crisis
"Given the information arrayed before me, I will be denying your promotion to Rank IV."
Jir's voice was smooth, her assessment delivered with the crisp tone of someone used to command.
In the corner of her vision, her Yewcast Augmented Reality glasses listed cultural tonalities.
Cultural Persuasion Note: Mandalorians value honor, discipline, and martial might. Maintain eye contact and keep speech clear and concise.
Perfect. It wasn't as though she operated in any other way.
Across from her desk, a helmeted Mandalorian sat, emotionless visor staring back at her. The beskar shone in the soft lighting of the meeting room.
The lighting was reminiscent of the light of Mandalore's star, a part of the Guild's cultural accommodation. As Mandalorians wore full armor and Mandalore itself was only livable within climate controlled dome-cities, full environmental regulation was unneeded.
Better than dealing with Wookies. Kashyyyk's climate was so humid she'd had to wear a special uniform to keep from sweating or wiping her brow constantly.
"...and why is that?" His confusion was evident, laced with an almost accusatory undertone.
If Jir hadn't read the man's file beforehand, his tone of voice would've told her everything she needed to know.
"While your status as a Mandalorian Clan Mercenary does give you some benefits, it does not entitle you to advancement past Rank III without a proper promotion. And currently, while your skills are up to par for a Rank IV, your client-side skills are abysmal."
He scoffed, leaning forward as though to challenge her claim, but Jir barreled onwards. Giving abrasive types like him a chance to retaliate was always a bad idea. Her time at the academy had taught her much.
"We've received dozens of complaints from various clients regarding your conduct. Your after-action reports are barely competent. And you often leave mission sites a smoldering wreck."
"Keeping them intact is optional!"
"Not if you want a promotion. Now, it's not as though this is unfixable." She wasn't quite sure of that, but upselling was the name of the game in the Guild. Her glasses were filled with small 'side quests', as they were called.
Frivolous, but Jir excelled in all things, and that would include selling mercenaries courses on 'Intricacies of Alderaanian Baking' if that meant rising higher.
"Your client-side skills can be improved by taking this set of courses" a press of a button had the rooms miniature holoprojector light up, listing five courses on client mannerisms, common cultural taboos for the most common species and cultures, and more.
"As a Clan Mercenary these are covered by your Clan contract and should function adequately as a starting point. However, better performance can be achieved by attending our advanced courses, such as Advanced Conflict-Descalation and courses in alternative mission-completion methods."
Successfully Advertised: Advanced Courses +15GP
Another dozen courses appeared on the list, these of course being paid courses. The Mando's helmet moved slightly as he read through the list.
"Low Observability Infil-Exfil? Psychological Warfare and Fabricated Realities? Non-Lethal Subjugation and Containment? These are fools games! I am a Mandalorian, and my enemies will face the wrath of my blaster–"
"And you will stay unpromoted." Jir butted in, killing off his momentum. "Most mercenaries average out at RIII, so staying at the rank is perfectly acceptable for someone of your current competency. However, RIV members are held to higher, stricter standards. They accept more difficult missions, work in more delicate and variable environments, and are therefore expected to exude excellence."
The meeting continued, the Mandalorian bringing up more and more points, and getting shot down time and time again. At the same time, Jir ensured she continued to advertise as many things as possible.
Successfully Advertised: Tolerance Courses +15GP
Successfully Advertised: Advanced Starfighter Training +15GP
Successfully Advertised: TR-55 "Coral" Blaster Pistol +5GP
Successfully Advertised: Introduction to Alderaanian Baking +30GP
By the end of it, Jir left content with the work she had done, and the Mandalorian left without a promotion, and a schedule packed with classes.
Not to mention, she'd earned a large amount of Guild Points. That free Luxury PDA was hers! It could sell for at least 200 Credits at the right places.
At that point, the day was over. In her mind, a map appeared of her route to her apartment. She could check her PDA, of course, but it was always prudent to have a perfect mental map. You never knew.
From the office, she'd take the train down to the Kailin district to run some errands and pick up a new blaster from her contact. Unregistered, of course, the other unregistered pistol didn't have a secure enough background for her liking, it was just the cheapest she could manage.
Under her uniform, she subtly adjusted the armoring hidden beneath. A holdover from her days as an Imperial Commandant, she'd had some flexible armor plating fitted to her proportions. They fit well under this new uniform as well, and she always wore them. They were rated for low level blasters, vibroblades and variety of other threats.
From there, she'd pick up groceries from that small store on the corner run by one of the Tula natives. They only sold native foodstuffs, and at least for the moment got tax breaks to help integration making their products cheaper. She already had backup options ready for when said tax break ended.
After that, it would only be a quick stop at– "Hey Jir!"
Annoyance settled across her mind even as a polite smile graced her features. "Hello, Melandre."
The Torgruta just smiled that blinding, irritating smile of hers. "Me and the others were going out for a drink or two. You want in?"
No, Jir thought, I don't want in. "I see no reason why not."
But what she wanted wasn't relevant here. What she needed was an in.
This so called 'friend group' had been remarkably difficult to ingratiate herself to. But her progress on other fronts was stalled, so this was her best bet. Make 'friends' here, and use them to rise up the ranks.
That was how she found herself in a bar, two hours and three drinks later.
"...and then she came back, holding a blaster twice her size, asking if it was regulation!"
Jir hadn't thought Colber was one for comedy, but once drunk apparently she was. Somewhere in the distance, she thought she heard someone laughing alongside the others.
The joke was funny, she thought. Outloud, she said–
"Ha! Tha's a sharp one. Wha's a good circuit-burner, an' da's no slaggin' lie. Har'ly breathed, I did."
The others stopped, eyes staring at her. What? She thought, I just said–
Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't say 'the joke was funny'. Her eyes darted to the menu a second slower than she would've liked.
She hadn't read the alcohol percentage. Melandre had ordered for all of them.
The others were still staring. Her heart was beating faster now. She let the accent out. In a quick motion, under the table, she brought a fingernail down hard on the soft flesh between her index finger and thumb.
Pain emanated from the nerve point, washing over her, the adrenaline fighting back just a bit against the inebriation.
"I gotta–I must be on my way." she said abruptly, already on her feet. She heard questions, a protest or two, but it didn't matter. Her bag was around her shoulder and she was gone.
First, into the bathroom. She ran the sink cold, filled it up and plunged her whole head in, waiting a few seconds without breathing to activate more of her fight or flight response.
After that, she took the back exit. Her mental map wouldn't be reliable. Instead, she plotted the quickest route to her apartment using her PDA. A quick few button presses overlaid the route onto her glasses. Her personal ones, of course.
From there, she was off. Her mind focused on one thing at a time. Stay no more than 6 inches from the nearest wall, walk straight, keep all items of value in your bag, and your bag held with both arms.
Yet, a part of her mind didn't focus on that. Instead, it reran that moment at the bar over and over again. Berating her, mocking her. Telling her she never really left Coruscant, did she. Not truly.
A part of her would always live in those tunnels.
The route was longer than normal, on account of the metro that normally connected right with her building being maintained. Instead, she was forced to navigate the city by foot.
She could've taken another form of public transit, but in that moment her mind was focusing on as few variables as possible. The less she had to track, the fewer chances for the inebriation to cause problems.
The longer route took her through mostly main streets. However, a few necessitated shorter paths, cutting through the narrow alleys of the city between the shadows of skyscrapers.
It was in one such alley that someone tried to mug her.
He was tall, human looking, though most other details escaped her. He was talking, something about money or whatnot. It didn't matter. She didn't back down from fools like this.
Out of pocket came a knife. Shit. She wasn't going to be fast enough to draw on him.
Instead, she backed up into the wall behind her. Removing any chance of flanking, and anchoring her. Inebriation would just make fancy footwork and dodging impossible.
Her arms started to come up, a defensive posture. Catch the blade on her arm, get him as he overextended. Then the blade started to hum.
Vibroblade.
She raised her arms higher, extending outwards closer to eye level. If that thing hit her arms she'd lose one. Better to let the armor tank it.
The man lunged, arm extending outwards. It hit, buzzing noise slicing through the air.
Instead of gutting her like a fish, the blade caught on her armor, shredding the cloth above.
He started to pull back, readying another stab but she was already on him, hand on his head, fingers scrabbling–
A scream ripped through the night, painful and high.
Her thumb was in his eyesocket, glove only barely muting the sensation as the eye popped beneath her finger. The sudden pressure brought heat with it, blood and intraoculur gel flooding into the cavity.
The other eye went next, the Jir bringing her other hand to bear. The mugger hadn't stopped screaming, blade already dropped on the ground as his hands rushed up to his face, desperate to stop the pain.
As he tumbled down, body spasming in agony, Jir went for the weapon. It slid easily into his heart, no more resistance than poking a finger through paper.
She left it there. The gloves ensured no prints would be left behind, and keeping a murder weapon was always a bad idea. Instead, she removed the gloves, hiding them in her bag as she left the alley post-haste.
It took another twenty minutes, but she arrived at her apartment. Tired, drunk, and feeling as though the world was coming apart.
Part of her wanted to curl up in her bed and cry like she used to. Back when she was dragging herself through Imperial society from the underworld, every day feeling like it was all coming apart around her, a crisis that never ended.
But she was better than that now. Even drunk, she refused to wallow in misery. Instead, she took up her PDA and added a note to it. She was buying Insta-Focus shots ASAP, so as to avoid this inebriation fiasco in the future.
Jir had worked too hard, buried too many bodies, to let this be her end.
That little girl in the sunless underside died down there, and it would stay that way.
–
Yo. Did a lot of research for this part. For Ecressys, I dug into the psychology of slavers, specifically chattel slavers in the American South. Very interesting stuff, saw themselves as almost paternal figures, had a whole system of honor. Very 'you are courting death junior brother!' vibe.
As for Jir, I actually based her off my own mom. Not in the sense that my mom is a bad person, far from it. But in the sense that my mom came to America with no English skills and through sheer perseverance dragged herself into graduating from a great college with honors in the 90's with a major accent. Not easy. And while Jir has had an objectively harder life, many lessons could be learned. Its why I chose to give Jir an underworld accent of sorts she hides.
Honestly, I straight up interviewed my mom on her life to write Jir better, and while it doesn't all come across here, it will in future appearances. Its super interesting the things a harsh life does to people, like for example making them super goal oriented, at least in my mom and Jir's case.
-Freefaller