「 shots fired 」
「 — @ixuinivix | Late 3955 BBY | Metalorn 」
Vestir should’ve pressed his contact, Gunieo, to give him a photo too. Prior to the crash, he wouldn’t let himself be this sloppy. The incident stripped him raw of his confidence, his time, and his health. He had a rusty pistol on him and a knee that still ached. Better not to push his luck so he could he conserve his strength. The excuses he made for himself formed a mask for him to wear. Anything to give him the hope that he would return to the old Vestir Kano.
The journey started with getting his hands on something more heavy duty than what he had to work with currently.
Of the people who were carrying concealed firepower on them, half were useless and named Techno Union as the manufacturer. The other half repeated led him to the canyon grounds where he nearly lost his head. He spent the rest of the day bartering with a Jawa, as one does, to get the pint-sized punk to set up a meeting for him and Trigger. The negotiation had cost him a few parts he scavenged off Jakku.
"Go to the dirt road three blocks down from the hotel.” “Stand beside boulder.” “When someone shows up, don’t speak. They’ll speak first.”
Easy enough. The winds nipped at Vestir’s skin and even penetrated through his boots. Again, the sloppiness gnawed at him. The soft crunches of gravel underneath someone’s steps was within earshot. He turned his head and his mouth dropped.
The sheer misfortune.