✧･ﾟ:* And in that moment | I swear we were infinite*･ﾟ: ✧
(...) There was also the fob fee of seven hundred and fifty credits for each of them, but Xel knew Joules had stolen that and more from the Sabacc game he’d upended back on Akiva. There were two other tasks, but until they had a sponsor to help them out with a promised seat, the other two were basically out of the question.
Joules shuddered as Xel described the destruction the Yuuzhan Vong left in their wake, and curiosity grew for what life had been like for the former slave. How had he survived under their venomous yoke? Joules respected Xel, and he certainly admired the Cilare, but that admiration grew quietly the more he learned about everything he’d endured, and the more he wanted to know about who the Cilare people were to begin with. Was this an inner strength attributed to his heritage, to his own self-preservation, or both?
“You survived,” Joules said, glancing up at Xel as he stepped closer. The pilot didn’t move away to claim space again. He didn’t mind the proximity, and he wouldn’t admit it, but he felt somehow safer with Xel on his heels like that. It was an odd feeling for someone so used to going at it alone. Still, Joules didn’t let that disarm him. He was still alert, and danger lurked in every corner. The fact that the airwaves were clear and there was no obvious space port to speak of meant that either they were being watched, or there was too much danger on the surface of the planet to really worry about anyone landing. Then again, Taris was supposedly an abandoned husk. Who would want to come out here unless they knew what lurked beneath it’s ruined crust?
As they stepped into the lift, Joules could practically feel the restless energy around Xel. “We’ll find another way back. Like you said, if we’ve gotta dig a damn tunnel, we will, alright? We just need to get down there. I’m sure we’ll find a stairwell or something that hasn’t been completely ruined. I mean, there had to be ways around a power outage, right?” At least Joules hoped so. Either way, he wasn’t forcing Xel to get back into an elevator like that, and quite frankly, he wasn’t a fan of it himself.
When the doors opened, Joules could feel the humidity hanging thickly in the air. He knew they were in the right place judging by the Guild logo on tattered flags throughout the corridor. The thickness of the air was dank and musty, and Joules was certain there had to be a myriad of mimbrane organisms growing fat on mold and sound waves. He made a mental note to try and find a few. They were cheaper than surveillance tech-- free!-- and not easily detected. Although he had to wonder whether or not Q’aah Yammka would eat them. That was a conversation to have with Xel later. Right now, he glanced down at his transmitter with a wry smirk on his lips when Xel asked how they planned to get a sponsor.
“Not relatives, exactly... But I know a guy.” Joules didn’t want to admit they were following his gut instinct. He couldn’t be sure it was Royce Ferno, but he’d recognized the signal and reverse-tracked it back here months ago. There was no telling if “Ace” even remembered him after all this time, or if it was merely his comm link that they’d find. His gut instinct told him otherwise, though. In fact, it was deeper than a gut instinct, but Joules didn’t want to get into how he suspected that feeling to have been the Force all along. He was no Jedi, and was only going on what other Force sensitives-- which Ace was certainly not-- explained to him over the years-- more notably in recent times.
Joules walked like he owned the place. Head high, shoulders straight, wide strides. A man on a mission who appeared to have been there before. He wanted to remove his sweat-dampened head coverings. It was difficult to breathe, but he didn’t want to be recognized. Not yet, anyway. Looking like he didn’t know where he was going was only prime invitation to get fucked with, and that’s not what they were here for, so he walked like hunter dropping by from some other system would. Thankfully, Xel didn’t seem to have a cartel bounty out for him. Crusoe clung to the sling around Joules’s back, beeping something at the pilot.
“I know. Just a little further,” he said, glancing back at Xel briefly to make sure he was still on his heels.
“I’m not gonna let ‘em scrap you, don’t worry. I’ll put a hole in anything that tries.”
The busy corridors seemed to stretch out forever was they walked until they finally reached a hovel with all sorts of spare parts on the outside. Joules felt his heart beating faster, but didn’t linger outside for long before pulling the shop’s tarp back and walking inside, beckoning for Xel to follow.
It was musty inside of the shop. The space was small, and the ceiling-- which was already low-- was crowded with dangling parts of varying types of machinery. From droid parts, to speeder parts of varying sizes and functions. Crusoe crowded the space around the human’s shoulders and neck, as though they walked through a droid graveyard. It smelled of metal and rust, but was somehow not as pugnant as the scents outside of the hovel.
“Relax, Cru,” Joules exhaled in a whisper, reaching up to pat the BD unit.
On the far end of the shop was a figure hunched over a cluttered workbench. There were several lights shining on his workspace, and the crackle of a handheld welding torch was audible. Before Joules could say anything, a gruff, baritone voice spoke up in accented Huttese.
"Jee not open oom-pairs todaee.”
Joules grinned when he recognized the four armed Ardennian’s voice. He didn’t care that the other wasn’t open for repairs today, that’s not what he was here for and spoke as much in his own perfect Huttese. Joules hated speaking in Huttese. It reminded him too much of his life in Dandoran as a little scrumrat.
“Jee 'sh not wata oom-pairs. Jee 'sh wata see old kikyuna,” he replied. “Or at least... I hope I can still call you an old friend.”
The welding on the bench paused, and the tinker sat still for a moment. Joules pulled the mouthpiece of his head covering down a little and pulled his goggles up to his forehead, not walking any closer, eyes glued on the other just ahead. The welding resumed, and Joules frowned slightly, taking another step forward.
“I thought you were dead, kid,” the other said, setting his tools down and pushing away from his workstation. He turned the spinning stool around and crossed two of the four arms that each held some sort of spanner, wrench, or torch. He studied Joules’s bright-eyed face and the giant whose head was crowded with the spare parts that hung from the ceiling. “How the fuck’d you find me?”
“I don’t die so easily, mate. I’m more slippery than a lubed up silicone eel,” Joules replied, reaching for something that looked like a speeder lock cylinder and turning it over in his hands idly.
“Now where the fuck have I heard that before? Keep your sticky fingers off my merchandise, by the way. You still didn’t answer my question,” he asked, watching as Joules set the cylinder back down and took a step forward.
“You know the answer to that, or did you forget how to reverse track a comm link signal? Assuming you used what I believe was one of the Ganymede’s original comms.”
“I taught you too well,” Ace said, smirking and pulling his own protective goggles up to rest on his fleshy, grayish blue forehead. “I found the Ganymede’s transmission frequency and had to know if it was her. Didn’t think you still had ‘er, though. Not after she’d been spotted on Pyke territory recently.”
“Eh... About that...” Joules said. He had a... complicated history with the Pyke Syndicate. One he’d be happy to share with Ace over drinks and maybe a game of sabacc, but not right this second.
“Don’t tell me you work for that scum,” Ace asked, scrunching his nostrils a bit.
“No, no... They tried recruiting me, but. That’s a story for another time. Two stories, really... Some of their men did have the Ganymede for a minute, but... Anyway, it’s way too long to get into right now. I’m here for something else. I know you were trying to get Kran into the Guild. We want to be bounty hunters. We’ve got credits enough for our individual fees and for the first fob, we just need a spons--”
Ace dismissively waved the two arms that weren’t crossed. “Forget it, kid. I’m on my way to a nice, fat retirement. The less I have to deal with Pendragon, the better off I am, and I’m not gonna be responsible for you and some... what the hell even is that? A Phlog hybrid or something-- look, I don’t care what he is, but I ain’t playin’ babysitter for either of you.”
Crusoe jumped down from Joules’s shoulder and scanned the tinker, identifying him correctly as a 64 year old Ardennian male specimen, then proudly booped that Xel was in fact a Cilare and not a Phlog.
“Light’s sake, that’s a Cilare? I thought they were all extinct or somethin’,” Ace said.
“Pux Cartel wants my head on a pike. I can’t set foot on Coruscant without getting tossed in prison or worse by Imperial wannabes. They’re dragging my reputation through the mud and I can’t get a foothold back into the game. Pyke wants me, but I refuse to work with slavers, and quite frankly? Thieving to get by’s getting a little old. But more importantly... I need to find Kran, and I can’t do by myself.”
Ace’s tightly folded arms seemed to relax a bit, and a regretful expression washed over his features. “He’s gone, kid... there’s no way he survived that.”
“We don’t know that, Ace. For all we know, he’s a slave in some fucking mine somewhere with shovels for arms now, but I won’t stop looking until I find him or his remains. And you have to help me. Please,” Joules said. “He was trying to get out of the cartel when it happened, and you know it. Sponsor us and we’ll give you a cut of our profits for the initial bounties. Once we’re in, you won’t have to worry worry about us anymore and you can disappear off into the nether if you want to--”
“Alright, alright, for fuck’s sake. Fifty percent. Fuck me out of going into retirement and I’ll personally toss you into the incinerator furnace at Lotho Minor. I can vouch for you. But what about him? And what the hell’s he wearing?” he asked, tilting his head towards Xel.
Joules glanced at Xel and smiled. “Fifty?! Doesn’t the guild take a big cut, too? What, do you want me to walk out of this with chump change? Ten percent. And Xel? He’s wearing chainmail. Made it himself last night out of junk metal I had. He’s good with metalworking, I think. Armor at least. Either way, I vouch for him with my life. Xel’s my co-pilot and partner in this, and I’m pretty sure he’ll crush you before you have a chance to take us anywhere near Lotho Minor,” he said, bringing his gaze back to Ace.
“You really are a lightdamned Roscoe. Twenty and no less or you can forget it,” Ace replied, eyeing Xel curiously, then looking at Joules.
“Twenty. Deal. I also need a new scomp link for my BD unit. So when do we meet this Pendragon?” he asked, watching as the Ardennian pushed up from his seat, setting the tools down on the work bench.
Crusoe beeped, hopping towards Xel and jumping up, climbing the Cilare until he was perched in his broad shoulder comfortably.
“Fine. I should have one layin’ around somewhere. And before you get near Pendragon, you need to collect five bounties. You got a carbonite block sealer on the Ganymede?” he asked, raising his brows.
Joules shook his head. “No. Where can I get one?” Then remembering that they weren’t taking a lift back up to the surface, Joules asked, “How can we get back to the surface that isn’t taking that lift?”
“Alright. It’s gonna cost you, kid. But you can get one on the far end of the East Corridor. Patchi’s Cantina. There’s an old bulletin board outside, can’t miss it. Order a Garrmorl with Corellian brandy swapped out for Savareen. They’ll take you to the back. Don’t let ‘em sell you on some fancy one, all you need’s a basic block and five casings. You can get more casings later, but for your first bounties that’s enough. If they ask, which they won’t, you tell ‘em you’re there on my behalf. Got all that?” he asked.
Joules nodded. “Patchi’s Cantina. Garrmorl, Corellian brandy swapped out for Savareen. Easy,” he said.
“And one last thing... There’s a Dowutin down there rustling everyone’s jimmies near the fighting pits. Goes by Cong. Big game hunter. I’d be careful if I were you. Especially your giant friend here. I’m just sayin’ stay out of his radar unless you got plans to take him out. Which I don’t condone on record,” he said, the disgust in his voice audible. “Anyway, once you got what you need, come back and we’ll talk about getting you bounty pucks and an alternate route to the surface. You’re gonna need a transport to get that shit back up to your ship, but Xel here looks like he can lift an entire house, so... go get what you need, then come back and don’t go causin’ trouble, Roscoe. Hunters are hungry for a good hunt, and if you got a big bounty on your ass, and I shit you not, they’ll come runnin’ when they figure it out.”
Joules didn’t like the sound of that, but Ace seemed to be on board with this. He wondered if the Ardennian believed Kran to truly be dead, or if his curiosity was what sparked him into agreeing to be their sponsor. "Alright. Keep our heads down, get in, get out, get the pucks.” He nodded, giving Ace a two-fingered salute, then turned to go before the elder spoke up again.
“And Rosoce? Don’t do anything stupid.”
The stardusted pilot grinned, pulling his face coverings back up and pulling his goggles back down. “We’ll be fine! Don’t worry ‘bout us. We didn’t come all this way for nothing, Ace.” With that unshakeable swagger, Joules brushed past Xel, heading out back towards the alley’s bustling corridor that smelled of moldy funk.
Ace looked up at the Cilare, as if trying to gauge his intentions around the human pilot. “I mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time. “He thinks he’s untouchable, and that’ll get ‘im far, but the same was true for his father and look where he’s at. Don’t you get captured, and don’t let him get killed. He thinks he’s a hardened criminal, but he’s a good kid,” he uttered before sitting back down on his stool, turning around once more and getting back to his work. Crusoe, still perched on Xel’s shoulder, booped quietly and scanned the mess of parts all around them, as if committing them to memory.
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