CH 1.1-a: Charitable Charlatan's

You are welcomed into Charitable Charlatan's by soft yet rhythmically persistent jazz type music coming from a jukebox, part of what you're certain is ownership's attempt at cultivating an extremely relaxed ambience. It's a decent sized cantina, as you immediately notice the dark atmospheric blue lighting precludes you from seeing with any clarity beyond the main area around the bar. While you can see the extent of the room's dimensions for the most part, it is difficult in some cases to tell whether or not anyone is actually occupying space toward the darker edges of the shadow, especially as the booths themselves seem designed for privacy, with exceptionally high-backed seating that would even hide the presence of a tall wookie. Ultimately, the cantina itself seems to be separated into blue subdued illumination near the bar, and a 'dark room' of sorts off to your right, illuminated only by the cast off light from the main area by the bar.

The only booth you can be sure that is occupied is close to the bar, a couple of plain looking Rodians quietly enjoying drinks. Faint murmurs of conversation float across the air in subtly varying volumes, none of them distinct enough to make out, but enough to know that there are patrons here that you just can't see. A subtle laugh comes from somewhere far off to your right in the dark room, then it's stifled. This is, without a doubt, a cantina for those who value privacy and quiet, and, based on the feeling you get, a well-mixed drink. Not necessarily high class, but low key and reserved.

The bar is directly ahead of you, bathed in pale blue light from above, occupied by a singular darkly dressed individual sitting at one end, back to the corner, facing the doorway. You can tell he's human in the light, and he seems to be evaluating you with a direct stare as he closes and pockets what you're sure is a comlink.

Suddenly, your comlink grabs your attention. Taking a look, you find a message: "Follow me so we can talk."

The man finishes his drink, gets up from his stool, and heads past the bar to your right, into the darker part of the cantina, disappearing around a corner.

Lissewa glides across the shades of blue mosaic floor into the dark room of the cantina, the quiet sounds of conversation subtly drowned out by the jukebox jazz-like beats still floating through the air. Rounding the corner, her eyes adjust to a darkness partially illuminated by blue light cast from the far left corner, allowing her to see barely enough to understand the purpose of the high-backed booths in this section: they were covered on top and had curtains that could be drawn to allow for additional privacy. From what she could see, a handful of booths were in such a state of seclusion, curtains drawn, its occupants completely hidden from view.

Her eyes naturally drawn to the far left corner, Lissewa saw the man seated in a booth, thick heavy dark blue curtains open, a pale blue light glowing softly from a lamp on the table within. A serving droid stands at the ready nearby. Gesturing, the man beckons for Lissewa to join him.

The man nods at the droid and it places two drinks on the table, one in front of each of you, leaving four drinks remaining on the serving tray. He is moderate of height and musculature for a human, and rather well dressed, wearing a sharp business suit with a couple of equally expensive and gaudy looking rings on each hand. From what you can see, he was likely an extremely attractive man at one point. However, the left side of his face is almost completely covered with scar tissue, a fairly thorough pattern of burn marks that starts at his chin and partially extends into his hairline, leaving a bald spot in what is otherwise a full head of black hair. His business style hair cut would look smartly styled, if it wasn't for the fact that it was parted toward the bald spot in a vein attempt to cover it up.

With a wave of his hand, the man dismisses the droid and it steps away, drawing the curtain shut. Everything is shades of blue inside the booth now, which looks like it would seat about eight comfortably. He locks eyes with you, takes a drink, then sets the cup down. "Kraspen Death Wind. Delicious." Leaning back, he seems rather comfortable as he pulls out a datapad, taps into it for a few moments, then returns it to his pocket.

His voice is smooth yet exuberant as he speaks. "Well, now! Isn't this a surprise! And here I was, expecting a party." He gestures, clearly referencing the spacious booth. "Apparently my attempts to be hospitable and accommodating are wasted. Although, I must say, it was rather brave of you to come alone, being such a small fish. Most unwise, yet brave. Perhaps you've swum too deep, little fish?"

Suddenly the curtains are drawn open from the outside, revealing three plainly dressed yet rather intimidating looking human thugs, blocking your exit from the booth, a pair of blaster pistols and a blaster carbine pointed directly at you.

He continues, threatening, yet nonchalant. "Keep quiet. Not a word. Put your hands flat on the table. Do anything else and you'll regret it." His voice turns hard, full of conviction, yet calm. "I will not ask twice."

Your comlink vibrates with a text message, silently requesting your attention.

"Throw on the electro-binders and take her to the speeder." The man looks at Lissewa, content for the moment, as the thugs bind her wrists and ankles, leaving just enough slack for her to walk. "Please try not to run or escape. You'll be in for a nasty shock, if you do." Without delay, the thugs drag Lissewa up out of the booth and muscle her through a door behind the bar into a small kitchen of sorts, occupied by a lone chef droid who doesn't seem bothered at all by what's taking place. The man follows.

Along the way, she notices that the two dark room booths nearest the illuminated bar area are empty, curtains open, blue light cascading out as the server droid begins to go about closing them. Also, the two Rodians who were in the main bar area are no where to be seen. The thugs continue to move Lissewa toward another door, on the opposite side of the kitchen from where she just entered.

A brief pause at the new door. "Oh, I see. You're one of those." The Man retorts with a sneer. "We've got a clever one, boys." A light laugh from The Man is shared with a guffaw from the third thug, who isn't holding one of your arms. "We'll see how far clever gets you, Twi'lek."

"Now, we're going to go outside, and you're going to be quiet. Not clever, but quiet. Now, to be clear, I really am not one for asking twice. While I do try to be fair, I am not one to suffer disobedience." You notice him look at one of his thugs, who happens to be missing an ear. "Isn't that right, Vogz?" He looks back to you. "Make a sound, any sound, and I will cut something, or some things, off." A malicious smile blossoms onto his face, his voice mocking. "I imagine it would be difficult to be clever without your tongue, hmm?" Suddenly stern, he gives orders. "Let's go." Throughout the interaction, the chef droid never even acknowledges any of your presence. All of you might as well have been invisible.

Your 'escorts' put on breath masks and exit the kitchen into another dark alley, as narrow and poorly illuminated as the one fronting Charitable Charlatan's. You gag at the smell, almost immediately. Looking to the right, there's just enough light so you can see that the alley dead ends about a block down, whereas off to your left it passes through what seems to be a 4-way intersection less than a block away, then continues on, toward a still shadowy yet more well lit alley.

Directly ahead is another door, although it's difficult to tell what might be inside as all of the buildings are connected for the most part, whether they're residential or business oriented. There's no glow-light sign, or any sign that you can see, suggesting it is a business. You wait, still held at the arms by two thugs, as The Man accesses the keypad to open the door. Suddenly you hear blaster fire, two, then three shots in quick succession. It seems very close, perhaps coming from the other side of Charitable Charlatan's.

Finally the Man got the door open. Upon entering, he waved the rest of the group inside as Lissewa coughed uncontrollably, a stimpack falling from her utility belt as she moved into the building. "Will somebody put her breath mask on already? That hacking and wretching is just dreadfully annoying." The thug with the carbine walking behind Lissewa took a moment to do as ordered. Lissewa coughed into the breath mask, spittle dribbling from her mouth. A few deep breaths and the spasmodic coughing began to subside. The Man gave an impatient smile in the shadowy light of his recently powered up glow lamp. "There? All better?" Lissewa gave another throaty cough, her eyes watering, stinging tears. "That's right. Shhh. Get it all out."

As she came to a calmer state, Lissewa took the room in. It was dark, the only illumination coming from the Man's glow lamp, shadows moving as it moved in his hand. It appeared to be a dilapidated warehouse of sorts, likely taller than it was wide. There were only a couple of floors as far a she could see, including the mezzanine above, before the darkness cut off her vision.

Noticing Lissewa's perceptive behavior, the Man acted taken aback, almost offended. "Oh, that's right! You're going to survive this, aren't you?" The mocking smile, just like the one she had seen before. He was a professional, to be sure, but clearly cocky. Wiping her tears away with a thumb, he continued. "There, there. Of course you are." He laughed, joined by the thug with the carbine, who was cut short by a glaring look from the Man. A few moments of silence, the closed door having shut out what seemed like a continuing firefight from what Lissewa had heard on the way in. "Well, I suppose we should be careful. Professionals and all. I mean, we've all seen the holo-vids where the captive escapes." At that, he put some goggles on Lissewa, letting the strap snap to the back of her head. They were blinder goggles. Lissewa could see absolutely nothing but blackness.

"Poor thing," the man poked at Lissewa with his words. "So unfortunate." She couldn't see, but she could tell his face was intimately close to hers. His voice became almost gentle, comforting with a touch of cruelty. "You know, if Zhaff had just died like he was supposed to, you wouldn't be in this mess. He told me how you saved him." A pause, then a hand caressed her cheek. "Personally, I'm not usually one for mercy. It just... tends to leave loose ends untied." His hand came to a rest under her chin, forcefully propping her head up ever so slightly with a finger. "I'm curious, though. How do you feel about your decision now? To help Zhaff. Would you do it again?"

"Tit for tat, eh?" A pause, perhaps contemplative? An exasperated sigh. "Admittedly, I am a talker. And, although I'm certain that you and I aren't on terms where I should feel obliged to answer you, I will... in the spirit of civilized discourse. You, my dear, are luck falling into my lap. So, I'm going to take advantage. I know someone who would very much like to speak with you." You could almost feel his menacing grin as he caressed your other cheek. "Of course, my clever, beautiful Twi'lek... broken and battered, you can still talk."

The Man stood up. "Don't force my hand. It would be an absolute shame to ruin an exquisite creature such as yourself."

One of the thugs chimed in. "She's a sexy Twi'lek, ain't she boss. I'd trade a week's pay if I could have some fun before--"

Suddenly, the sound of something removed with speed from a utility belt. The Man's voice. "You're new here, aren't you?" The thug starts again. "Okay, I just--" A wooshing sound, like the air being cut, followed by blunt impact to skin. Thwack! The thug cries out. You've heard the sound before, almost like the pleasure whips used on sex slaves at your last master's house, except this is thicker, heavier, meatier. Thwack! A body hits the floor nearby, pleading. "Please, I--" Thwack! The thug cries out again. Nobody else moves or says anything. Thwack! He screams, and begins to sob, desperate feet pushing on your ankles as he reflexively tries to scramble away. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! You feel the wet spatter of a few warm drops hit one of your tentacles. Silence. A twitching foot goes on for a few seconds, then rests next to yours. Stillness.

Through heavy breathing, the Man speaks. "Cretin." A deep contented breath, exhaled. "So hard to find good help." Switching gears, he exudes calm authority. "Get him up." A few passing moments of silence, one of your escorts shifts where he stands. "I said, Get. Him. Up."

The thug to your left replies. "Um... sir, with all due respect, I think you killed him?"

The Man answers, confident in his disbelief. "No, no, no." A crack of doubt. "You really think so?"

"Well, yeah. Look at his face. I mean, look at it."

"Nah, it's worse than it looks. It'll be a good reminder for him, that's all. Give him a stim or two, and get him up."

The Man addresses you as one of the thug's goes about trying to revive the downed (dead?) thug. "It's ugly. Just be glad you can't see. Oh, and I do apologize. Those in my employ usually find me to be quite fair. However, some things I simply won't tolerate, and this filth's lack of professionalism left him... wanting, to say the least." A pause. "Assuming he doesn't have brain damage, I doubt he'll make the same mistake again."

You could swear your comlink vibrated again.

A weak moan emanated from what you can only assume is the beaten thug, still alive. You feel his foot try to move, and fail. "Forgiveness? But it's so important! So important. I forgave my associate here by beating him senseless. I gave him life by not taking it away. And now, when he comes to his senses," a pause, you can imagine him gauging the possibility of that, "he'll have a reinforced work ethic. You see, forgiveness is crucial, so crucial in developing good working relationships."

"Boss, I don't think he's going to be able to go. I mean he's alive... breathing, but he still won't get up. Should I try another stim?"

A sigh from the Man. "That will be unnecessary." The sound of a blaster (?) leaving its holster. "You know, it really is hard to find good help these days." An exasperated sigh. Pew, pew, pew! Three blaster shots. "Let's go. Have someone come down and clean up this mess later." With that , you hear the Man take a couple of steps, then your double thug escort pulls you along at a brisk pace.

"You know, while I appreciate your compliments, which I'm certain are most sincere," his sarcasm is palpable, "do you really expect me to fall for that? That I would 'fit in' with 'your people'? Do you take me for a fool?" Suddenly, the sound of a door grating opening in front of you, as you can hear the sounds of the Kraspen night, the buzz of a distant Espos siren and the intermittent shrieking of some hapless victim, who couldn't be more than 10 blocks away. You're immediately maneuvered out the door and to the right, coming to a stop a few steps later. Without warning, the Man's voice is harsh, intimate again as he leans in, almost whispering into your ear. "You know..." his voice resonated, just audible in your ear, a respite from the shrieks, "I'm actually surprised you played that card." A caress traces down one of your tentacles, all the way to the tip. "It just smacks of desperation. It somehow seems... beneath you."

The Man's adopted his commanding voice as he moved away. The sound of a (speeder?) door opening. "Put her in back. You, drive." Guided forward, you feel the open door of what you're guessing is a speeder, or transportation of some type. "You can have some dignity, and get in. Or you can be thrown in. Your choice."

Lissewa stood there, silent, perhaps dazed by the situation. Panicked? "Well then. Seems you've decided," The Man thrust her into the vehicle from behind, with help from one of his thugs. Flopping into a cushioned seat, bound as she was, she could still tell that seating was spacious, and meant for luxury. A speeder limousine? She heard the man get in, addressing a thug. "Up front, with him." The door closed, and it was silent. The Man addresses you. "You know, there's no reason to be difficult." You hear him move ever so slightly, then a pleasant beeping tone for only a second. "Drive." An intercom to the driver? Your breath mask is removed. A clean smell is accompanied by a mild, tastefully present botanical aromatic, a 'green' scent that wasn't overwhelming to the senses. Expensive, to be sure.

His voice was calm, and pleasant. "You see, we can at least be cordial with one another."

You feel the speeder come to life, gently moving forward from a stand still, inertia rocking you gently back into your seat.

Even though you didn't post, it seemed prudent to advance the narrative, especially given the circumstance, along with trying to maintain a cohesive timeline in a split party situation.

Suddenly your eyes are adjusting to the light. The Man has removed your blinders, and you squint as you see him reach to a control panel. The windows fade to black as electro-tinting blocks your view of the outside world, and a dome light above casts a soft, warm glow. "That's better." Allowing you your space, he is seated quite comfortably across the cab from you. He visibly relaxes as he reclines further into the seat, letting his legs stretch out as the trials of the day seem to melt away. Contemplative, he sits in silence for a few moments, then speaks.

"As far as 'the ride', it just happens to be my personal vehicle. And being cordial? Well, why not? It's so much easier than being oppositional." His eyes turn toward you, his voice with an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm. "Please, the threats and inconveniences... don't take it personally. It is, after all, just business." He seems sincere, but you can tell he expects you to 'take it personally', which might explain the sarcasm. "I expect you to go along, because frankly," he echoes you with that last word, "you really don't have much of a choice." Despite the luxury of the speeder, you can just barely hear the hum of its engine as it glides along.

"As far as 'my game', let's just say someone has been expecting you, and your associates. And this someone, my employer, would undoubtedly like to meet you, although they wouldn't have expected such an opportunity to fall so easily into their lap. You see... my employer... well, quite plainly, he lacks imagination. Consequently, you and your associates have been targeted for elimination. However, given your choice to come alone, I am positive he's smart enough to appreciate the value of a conversation with you. So, here you are."

He smiles proudly, his voice subtle arrogance steeped in pragmatism. "You know, really you should be thanking me. Killing you would have been far less complicated, easy. You know... one down, four to go." The smile fades, replaced by something colder, stoic. "It was well within my purview to leave you dead in that booth."