((Contains material of an adult nature.))
Contrary to Kalen's belief that she had been too far gone to remember anything from the evening before, Yana Triem woke with a pounding head and a very clear memory. Parts of it were too clear for her liking - why did I have to talk about his ass so much" - but the part that resounded through her head most was his insistence that they were now partners. Partners in need of a bigger ship. As much as she loved her Pandora, she knew it was not suitable for more than a one person crew, and the thought of living in that close quarters with Kalen Dain was more than enough to get her up and moving.
Leaving him sleeping, and with strict instructions to Kless to keep the merc pilot in the Pearl by whatever means necessary until she returned, she made her way out into the Spaceport, steeling herself for what she had planned. First stop was Landing Pad Seven, where she checked on the state of her newly repaired cargo shuttle, reclaiming the credit chit she'd handed over to pay for those repairs and the full tank of fuel. It didn't take long to pack her meager belongings from inside, hoisting a bag that felt too light to hold the necessities of her life onto her shoulder to head out once again.
She avoided the yards that proliferated in the classy end of the 'port; even if the scrapyards did hold a ship suitable, she would never be able to afford it. No, she knew exactly where she was going, treading the walkways down into the heart of the Spaceport, where criminal activity was virtually the only career worth pursuing. Keeping one hand on her blaster at all times, she walked with purpose. She'd grown up here; she knew these byways like the back of her hand, and enough people here could recognize not to trouble her, if not for her own sake, then for the memory of her father. Humans were fewer down here even than they were up top, but she didn't let that deter her. She knew exactly where she was going. It was known locally as The Graveyard, and it was run by a Hutt.
Not a true Hutt; you'd never catch one of them outside their own galaxy. No, Orsk Hitin the Hutt was a Bothan - from the same galaxy as the Hutts, certainly, but wily enough to get out and create a Hutt persona for himself that spread their reputation while keeping his own name safely out of the rumor mill. He'd run a few tricks with her father when she was a small girl; if she was very lucky, Hix Triem's name would still open doors here.
It was no surprise to see Jawas crawling all over The Graveyard, busily working on ships and ship parts, seemingly to their own agenda. Orsk had made sure to populate his inner ranks with races he was familiar with; people that, for one reason or another, had felt the need to leave their own galaxy and gravitated to what was familiar in this one. Therefore she was even less surprised to be challenged by a Rodian just a few moments after entering.
"Uba! Uba chuba chowbasa wata!"
Yana sighed, coming to a halt in front of the green-skinned mercenary. She hated Huttese - too guttural and generally nonsensical for her liking. She refused to speak it.
"I've got business with the Hutt," she informed the Rodian with an unfriendly glare. "Just you tell him there's a Triem who wants his time."
"Ta Hutt chuba bargon foo tah uba," the Rodian insisted.
Yana rolled her eyes. "Yes, he will," she countered through ground teeth, cursing her pounding hangover. She was not in the best of moods. "Pass the message, or I'm going to make trouble."
The Rodian clicked his muzzle-like mouth dismissively. "Bolla goola che uba."
"Oh, yeah?" Without missing a beat, Yana kicked his kneecap hard, drawing her blaster as he staggered to set the barrel against the side of his head. "Wanna think that over?"
The Rodian snarled at her, but was interrupted by the jabbering sound of a Jawa rushing over to them, waving his arms wildly. Stepping back, Yana let the pair talk, keeping her blaster trained on the mercenary all the while. If she heard anything she didn't like, he was going to regret it. After a few moments, however, the Rodian snarled once again, limping backward and out of her way. The Jawa bowed to her, gesturing for her to come with him as he pottered away, toward the hollowed out remains of what might once have been a Hammerhead Corvette-class freighter.
Following, Yana ducked inside at the Jawa's invitation, finding herself in the heart of Orsk Hitin's underclass empire. And there was the man himself - well, man was probably an insult. He was a Bothan, and proud of it, all shaggy fur around his canine-like face and standing no more than five feet in height. His muzzle swung about as she entered, and she felt a little of her tension relax at his booming greeting.
"Little Yan! Welcome to my humble home!"
"Hardly humble, Orsk," she pointed out, but she couldn't deny the wry fondness in her tone. This Bothan had kept a close eye on her after her father's death; if it wasn't for him, she would likely not still be standing.
"What brings you to me, hmm?" Orsk asked, gesturing for her to join him as he moved to sit comfortably on a couch that had never been designed for use on a starship.
She smiled. This was familiar. Straight to business, no need for reliving old memories or revisiting past misadventures. Her name got her in, and the memory of her father kept her in Orsk's good books. That was enough for now.
"I need to trade up," she told him, taking a seat opposite as she dug a datapad with her ship's schematics out of her bag. "Going into partnership with a good pilot, and Pandora's just not going to cut it for both of us. She's newly repaired, full tank of fuel, modified with a rear-mounted laser cannon and side turret, and jumps to light with half-calculation in a pinch."
"How far up are you wanting to trade?" the Bothan asked thoughtfully, taking the pad to scan the details in front of him. "Knowing you, it needs to be speedy and maneuverable as well as having fair cargo space. And two crew suggests separate quarters. I've a couple that might suit."
He nodded to the Jawa who had stayed with them, and the little creature went scurrying for another datapad as the Bothan turned his eyes back to Yana.
"Pandora would fetch a good price with any disreputable businessman," he told her. "Good enough to trade up without coming here."
"But I don't know any honest disreputable businessmen but you, Orsk," she pointed out in amusement.
He let out a bark of laughter, appreciating her distinction. "How do you plan to pay for what the trade doesn't cover?"
She bit her lip, not liking what had to come next. "I've got 5,000 creds to play with," she told him. "Bit of gold here on Rhy'Din, too. But if it's not enough, I propose to keep my creds and my gold, and cut you in on all deals I make until it's paid off." She eyed him pointedly. "You know I'm good for it."
"What's the cut you're offering?" he asked sharply.
"15% on all deals over 10,000," she answered promptly - she'd done the math while packing up her belongings. "5% on anything under that."
Contrary to Kalen's belief that she had been too far gone to remember anything from the evening before, Yana Triem woke with a pounding head and a very clear memory. Parts of it were too clear for her liking - why did I have to talk about his ass so much" - but the part that resounded through her head most was his insistence that they were now partners. Partners in need of a bigger ship. As much as she loved her Pandora, she knew it was not suitable for more than a one person crew, and the thought of living in that close quarters with Kalen Dain was more than enough to get her up and moving.
Leaving him sleeping, and with strict instructions to Kless to keep the merc pilot in the Pearl by whatever means necessary until she returned, she made her way out into the Spaceport, steeling herself for what she had planned. First stop was Landing Pad Seven, where she checked on the state of her newly repaired cargo shuttle, reclaiming the credit chit she'd handed over to pay for those repairs and the full tank of fuel. It didn't take long to pack her meager belongings from inside, hoisting a bag that felt too light to hold the necessities of her life onto her shoulder to head out once again.
She avoided the yards that proliferated in the classy end of the 'port; even if the scrapyards did hold a ship suitable, she would never be able to afford it. No, she knew exactly where she was going, treading the walkways down into the heart of the Spaceport, where criminal activity was virtually the only career worth pursuing. Keeping one hand on her blaster at all times, she walked with purpose. She'd grown up here; she knew these byways like the back of her hand, and enough people here could recognize not to trouble her, if not for her own sake, then for the memory of her father. Humans were fewer down here even than they were up top, but she didn't let that deter her. She knew exactly where she was going. It was known locally as The Graveyard, and it was run by a Hutt.
Not a true Hutt; you'd never catch one of them outside their own galaxy. No, Orsk Hitin the Hutt was a Bothan - from the same galaxy as the Hutts, certainly, but wily enough to get out and create a Hutt persona for himself that spread their reputation while keeping his own name safely out of the rumor mill. He'd run a few tricks with her father when she was a small girl; if she was very lucky, Hix Triem's name would still open doors here.
It was no surprise to see Jawas crawling all over The Graveyard, busily working on ships and ship parts, seemingly to their own agenda. Orsk had made sure to populate his inner ranks with races he was familiar with; people that, for one reason or another, had felt the need to leave their own galaxy and gravitated to what was familiar in this one. Therefore she was even less surprised to be challenged by a Rodian just a few moments after entering.
"Uba! Uba chuba chowbasa wata!"
Yana sighed, coming to a halt in front of the green-skinned mercenary. She hated Huttese - too guttural and generally nonsensical for her liking. She refused to speak it.
"I've got business with the Hutt," she informed the Rodian with an unfriendly glare. "Just you tell him there's a Triem who wants his time."
"Ta Hutt chuba bargon foo tah uba," the Rodian insisted.
Yana rolled her eyes. "Yes, he will," she countered through ground teeth, cursing her pounding hangover. She was not in the best of moods. "Pass the message, or I'm going to make trouble."
The Rodian clicked his muzzle-like mouth dismissively. "Bolla goola che uba."
"Oh, yeah?" Without missing a beat, Yana kicked his kneecap hard, drawing her blaster as he staggered to set the barrel against the side of his head. "Wanna think that over?"
The Rodian snarled at her, but was interrupted by the jabbering sound of a Jawa rushing over to them, waving his arms wildly. Stepping back, Yana let the pair talk, keeping her blaster trained on the mercenary all the while. If she heard anything she didn't like, he was going to regret it. After a few moments, however, the Rodian snarled once again, limping backward and out of her way. The Jawa bowed to her, gesturing for her to come with him as he pottered away, toward the hollowed out remains of what might once have been a Hammerhead Corvette-class freighter.
Following, Yana ducked inside at the Jawa's invitation, finding herself in the heart of Orsk Hitin's underclass empire. And there was the man himself - well, man was probably an insult. He was a Bothan, and proud of it, all shaggy fur around his canine-like face and standing no more than five feet in height. His muzzle swung about as she entered, and she felt a little of her tension relax at his booming greeting.
"Little Yan! Welcome to my humble home!"
"Hardly humble, Orsk," she pointed out, but she couldn't deny the wry fondness in her tone. This Bothan had kept a close eye on her after her father's death; if it wasn't for him, she would likely not still be standing.
"What brings you to me, hmm?" Orsk asked, gesturing for her to join him as he moved to sit comfortably on a couch that had never been designed for use on a starship.
She smiled. This was familiar. Straight to business, no need for reliving old memories or revisiting past misadventures. Her name got her in, and the memory of her father kept her in Orsk's good books. That was enough for now.
"I need to trade up," she told him, taking a seat opposite as she dug a datapad with her ship's schematics out of her bag. "Going into partnership with a good pilot, and Pandora's just not going to cut it for both of us. She's newly repaired, full tank of fuel, modified with a rear-mounted laser cannon and side turret, and jumps to light with half-calculation in a pinch."
"How far up are you wanting to trade?" the Bothan asked thoughtfully, taking the pad to scan the details in front of him. "Knowing you, it needs to be speedy and maneuverable as well as having fair cargo space. And two crew suggests separate quarters. I've a couple that might suit."
He nodded to the Jawa who had stayed with them, and the little creature went scurrying for another datapad as the Bothan turned his eyes back to Yana.
"Pandora would fetch a good price with any disreputable businessman," he told her. "Good enough to trade up without coming here."
"But I don't know any honest disreputable businessmen but you, Orsk," she pointed out in amusement.
He let out a bark of laughter, appreciating her distinction. "How do you plan to pay for what the trade doesn't cover?"
She bit her lip, not liking what had to come next. "I've got 5,000 creds to play with," she told him. "Bit of gold here on Rhy'Din, too. But if it's not enough, I propose to keep my creds and my gold, and cut you in on all deals I make until it's paid off." She eyed him pointedly. "You know I'm good for it."
"What's the cut you're offering?" he asked sharply.
"15% on all deals over 10,000," she answered promptly - she'd done the math while packing up her belongings. "5% on anything under that."