| abstract | - Trader's Triumph aft cabin: A large, spacious room, well-stocked with the pleasant things in life, and the not so pleasant. The metal floor has several plush couches on in, lining the walls, with a table set into the floor near the end of the aft section, at either end, couch curling along the walls. There are large cabinets, well stocked with various foods, alcohols, and other curiousities. In addition, a makeshift desk can be pulled out from one of the walls, nearby compartments holding paperwork, and a computer. To the side of the cabin area is also a set of humanoid sized cages. Conference Table:Set within the metal flooring of the ship's aft cabin is a full conferrence table which will raise when the appropriate controls near the cockpit entrance are activated. Though made of metal, chairs raise along with the table and are suprisingly comfortable provided the occupant is of standard bipedal design. From the cieling will extend several viewscreens controlled from the head chair for presentations. The outfit is also installed distance conferrencing technology, in case those off ship and in other systems need to be able to sit in on the meeting. Bar:Set within the bulkhead is a full bar. By pressing a button, the panelling slides open to reveal an array of exotic, common and high priced alcohol from Corellian Brandy to Ryloth Wines. Crystal glasses of every variety adorn themselves in rows beneath the bar, including shot sized ones. There is a quiet ice maker as well. Cages: A pair of four humanoid sized cages rest welded together in a clump, their locks electronically enhanced. The metal bars are a hard alloy similar to what the rest of the ship is made out of. Though their use is obviously for less than luxurious affairs, the craftsmanship with which they are installed blends their contrast to the rest of the spacious and pleasant cabin. Its almost like some exotic pet cage or something in someone's livingroom. Tyy'sun Eson, weakened from the attemp on Talon Karrde's life in the dark streets of Nar Shaddaa, had been carried back to the Trader's Triumph at port along with the unconscious Smuggler Chief by Black Sun operatives of the Expatra division. The confrontation over Karrde's Outer Rim operations had not exactly gone as planned. Any strategic and cunning mind would have laid a well planned and coordinated assault - a trap - for such a worthy opponent as this man; but Eson was not of his calculating, Corporate and Syndicate mind as he converged on the underworld competition of Black Sun. Was not prone to caution as his network of informants uncovered a hole in the security of who is arguably one of the Galaxy's most prominent fringe entrepreneurs. Instead unadulterated rage was the order of the day, and the blaster fire the crimson Twi'lek recieved point blank to the gut was a harsh exchange for the gratiutous pistol whipping Karrde suffered at the animalistic crimelord's hands. It had been a bloody affair. But the deep had been done, and 24 hours in a bacta tank combined with the rejuvenating energies of the Darkside would mend Tyy'sun well - and the cold durasteel bars of the Trader's Triumph would hold the powerful Talon Karrde in wait for his eventual fate.. judging by the veracity of Eson's attack, and the brutal dispay of gut determination and sabbac faced promise that 'Karrde and his Out Rim operations were finished' - that eventual fate does not bode well for the Smuggler Chief. Indeed, the darkness that had been beat into him within a ring of curious and amoral bystanders on the Smuggler's Moon had held Karrde off and on, clarity offered up in long-spaced waves with nothing to offer. He was in a cage, and in pain. That is what his senses reported each time. Struggling for thought when he could, the smuggler chief could only run the assault through his mind. And the meeting he'd missed. Surely they would have noticed he didn't make it by now, but then... given the nature of things, likely not. All Karrde noticed now was the blood, some dried and some fresh, and the comfortingly consistent feeling he'd been run over by a space barge. The bioinjection the initially unconscious Karrde recieved opon being brought into the aft cabin of Triumph often causes the cognition of time to slip in and out of order.. the Smuggler Chief was sumarily relieved of his weapons without concern of his undue reawakening and all other objects on his person likewise lifted. Placed into the cage to await Eson's recovery, a day and a half slipped by without much conscious perception from either of them.. As Eson emerges from the bowels of the heavy courier's cargo bay without so much as a limp, however, Talon Karrde may realise that his intended meeting resides much further in the past than he at first assumed. The crimson Twi'lek, his gut wrapped in bandages but covered by the thinskin sleeveless t-shirt and readorned blast vest, stalks the steel flooring toward the quadset cages set against the bulkhead.. stalks towards the lulling Karrde, a dark and downcast gaze observing the quarry as he goes. As time thinned to a normal pace and another, more clear spot emerges, Karrde stirs at the sound of a ship door hissing open and closed again. He could hear that more clearly and identify it; an improvement in anyone's book. Pulling an arm in, the smuggler chief cautiously raises up to an elbow, squinting through the crafted bars with slowly growing wariness. The pounding in his head does not depart; if anything, it grows worse. But the man remembers. "I don't know..." Karrde starts, sounding less strident with the concussion. He lifts a hand to check where it hurts the most, and sees only dried blood there after the touch. Good. "What you think to get from this, Tyy'sun." The Eson is not alone in his visit to the smuggler. Behind his wake follows a man of greater height than his leader. Dark brown hair is cut shorter, a scar worn with pride from his right cheek down along the curve of his lips and beyond. A nice little reminder of where he once came from. Lyle Derfill, a Vigo of the Black Sun eyes the captive, defenseless among his enemies, a vipers next waiting to strike. His footfalls stall, giving Tyy'sun the room of triumph. His attire nearly all in black except for the stripe of blue that runs down the sides of his pants and in a slight decline along his fitted shirt from right shoulder to mid chest of his left side. Dark eyes narrow upon Karrde, set upon listening to the scene. At first the twi'lek does not respond.. uncertain of Karrde's lucidity. At length Eson hovers at the cages, gazing into the container that holds the key to an evasive organization that not only rivaled that of Black Sun, but arguably surpassed it in more ways than one. What Eson, freshly promoted to the rank of Otactre, hoped to gain from capturing Karrde ought to be obvious to the famous Smuggler Chief.. at length the crimson being finally speaks, "Only what is coming to me, dog. Only luck has sustained your life the past 24 hours - I would have seen your blood spilled in Nar Shaddaa had you not etched your permanent mark into my belly. It is only fitting that you allow me to return the favor before I hault your Outer Rim dealings." the words are practically spil through the bars.. "blaster scars.." he notes, raising his bare left arm and shoulder to reveal the pock marked shotgun wound scars from several previous encounters with enemies which adorn it.. "The wounds heal with time. Though the scars ever remind me of why I do what I do, Karrde.. a small price to pay for power." Drawing back from the bars, Karrde seeks a seat with his back to the wall opposite, taking care not to jostle his head. His lucidity is good, though his thinking is sluggish. What the twi'lek darkening the cage says makes sense, yet... The smuggler chief peers up at Tyy'sun, face streaked with his own blood. "What's coming to you," he repeats quietly. "You think because you have -scars- that you're owed something I've taken pain to get? Tyy'sun," he manages a ghastly smile up at the being and his henchman. "No one is owed anything. What this is is theft... of something you didn't earn." The pain needles into the backs of his eyes, and the smuggler's tactic, whatever that may be, falters as he winces back the pain. The exchange between the two is noted in length by Lyle, that dark gaze flitting to Tyy'sun next, regarding him. Everything that was coming to him? The Vigo shifts from one foot to the other, "This draws too much attention, perhaps we should show a little more discretion?" Perhaps out of turn in voicing his concerns, Lyle can be out spoken if needed. Black Sun as a whole was not all too certain of this public move, too much attention. "What exactly is the reason for this, I do not think you spoke clearly enough, for me." THe last part added to possibly abate any anger for such a direct question. The red of the Twi'lek's body nearly glowing infront of the cage. There were things needed knowing. Visibly scoffs at Karrde' s words. Of course he scoffs, what else would he do.. the notion of opening the cage and dropping the powerful man off at the nearest starport with a nod of respect and an apology would not be a psychological possibility for the Twi'lek, who has spent the last 10 years forging his underworld career on the bloodied backs of those who came before him. Perhaps if Eson had the insight to gleam the foreshadowing warning embedded within the words of his Vigo associate, the notion of letting Karrde go would be less of a stretch. Unfortunate that Eson contained so little an appreciation for the cunning and strategy long stitched into the fabric of the Syndicate he has inherited. But then, tyrant crimelords are rarely penned for their genius. the short-lived ones aren't at least.
* A cold gaze is offered to Lyle. He was a Vigo, and as such held the sort of status that afforded him the right to speak concerns. But speaking them in front of Karrde was another matter.. "The deed is done.. " he intones, moving towards the bar to pour a glass of Corellian Rum.. "You will find, my friend, that our days of lurking in the shadow's of the Galaxy are soon to be over.. there is much to be gained by asserting Syndicate control, and no better way to send that message than to sack the very figure who holds the respect and fear of our enemies and allies alike.." discussing such business in front of Karrde was perhaps even more a breach of protocal than Lyle's questioning attitude.. but the man was slated for death - it hardly mattered in the end The dissenting voice attracts the struggling smuggler chief like a flame, and Karrde squints up again, seeking Lyle now, the only other who is free, and hopefully more sane than Tyy'sun. "Not even the Hutts were so foolish, Tyy'sun," he growls, keeping his attention on Lyle. "Jabba knew how to build empire. Careful alliance, keeping everyone busy... not this." Settling his head against the wall at his back, the smuggler chief regards the Vigo, pitching his voice for the man before him. "He won't get alliance, you know," the information broker breathes. "All my power, whatever he knows and the mass he doesn't, will simply destroy whatever he has. Whatever he's given you, maybe what you've managed to grab for yourself." Unreadable, the Vigo watches the change within Tyy'sun, his reactions, Subtlety at its best. Where the Otactre was lacking of such desirable qualities, Lyle had not forgotten. Instead of cross the open space between them with words, he steps closer to where Tyy'sun wets his throat, "You bring eyes from around the galaxy upon us, with all due respect, I do not believe this is wise." Dark eyes hold that cool, steady seriousness, a turn of his head to regard the words of the smuggler, eyes locked upon him. To earn such information slowly was one thing, to whisk it away in a torrent of greed and power was another. He risked pulling the foundation out from beneath them, "You rush too fast, measures must be taken. You expose us more clearly this way. If Black Sun had slowly removed the strength that held them up, then we might have played well, but this does not sit well with me. Caution, Otactre, I bid you move in caution." As Eson allows the rum to slide down his throat, he obsorbs Karrde's words.. as the bitter liquid burns his tongue and hues his taste buds in its essence, he endures the further open dissent from of Lyle.. with a smack of finality the empty class is slammed to the counter of the durasteel bar, the audible reverberation of the action amidst the bulkheads augmenting the silence it is intended to produce from the others. For a long moment the Twi'lek stands motionless there at the bar - rippling, tattooed crimson lekku the only animation visible.. it is not the sight of a calculating mind. It is the sight of a building ire. The dagger like pupils of Tyy'sun's blue/grey pits tell the tale of an unapreciated Lyle Derfill, beaten and flogged for daring to be so bold against him, no less in front of the enemy. "It is you who ought show caution." he warns plainly.
* Then it is to the cage Eson goes, his strides long. Tyy'sun never did embody the typical traits of his species.. this fact is shown by the rage building in his laughter at Karrde's history lesson, "That bulbous lard Jabba poised as a snake at the fall of Xixor, thou dog! To snatch his Syndicate and all its worth up - as a carrion might suckle on the dead! And you, you are so cunning and wise, seek to lucture /me/ on the ettiquette of the fringe!?" With one swift motion an electronic device is produced from a pocket in the blast vest and pointed at the cage.. the lock comes undone with an audible zap. The cage door swivles open slightly. The smuggler chief remained silent through Lyle's words of wisdom, seeing an ally that needed no recognition there. It was just as well; the temptation to take a nap was terribly strong, given the situation, and Karrde was painfully aware of his head wounds. As the silence builds around Tyy'sun's anger, the man pushes himself to his feet, perhaps to be more of the third sentient in the room, instead of the animal in the cage. But as the crimson Twi'lek storms back toward him, the nagging thought in the back of Karrde's mind emerges. Remember how he -moved-. Ah. "Not lecture, Tyy'sun, merely share something gained in twenty-five years," he corrects, almost gently against the oncoming anger. A look flicks to the Vigo, keeping track, before focusing on Tyy'sun as the cage lock clicks open. That can't be good. "I'm not the only one in danger of extinction here," the man comments, recognizing the situation for what it could be. "A deal could solve that for both of us." It's a somewhat empty offer, given Karrde's not quite sure he's talking to someone possessed of reason. To that end, the smuggler sets his back against the wall again, braced there to eye the Twi'lek. Expecting such a reaction from the Otactre, the Vigo closes his eyes at the well of anger, lids lifting once more to watch the crossing of the distance between Karrde and Tyy'sun. The sound of door opening to the cage draws his brows down, standing his ground and keeping his distance still, this was not good. Lyle takes a step forward, each one bringing him closer to drawing the wild rage of the Twi'leck upon his head. "Otactre.." he starts in caution, a few more steps crossed as he draws closer but also makes sure to leave enough room for safety's sake. Lips are firm, set along the chiseled line of his jaw, the scar unbending as well. A hard lesson learned, a lesson that brought caution to him in many forms and this one was a warning. Make sure each step is stable before continuing to the next and nearly half way to Tyy'sun, Lyle stops, here is where the temperature of the waters would change. "Get out of the cage, Karrde.. " Eson says kurtly, "if you are so sharing, then perhaps a deal will save your aging hide afterall. You can begin with your Outer Rim operations." perhaps Karrde and Lyle's words could bore into the palpable layer of ire and pre-determination that is Eson's mind afterall.. then again, the Twi'leks stance before the quadset cages, feet slightly apart, is not unlike the stance held before Karrde on the streets of Nar Shaddaa some 24 hours past - the stance that prophesied a raising crimelord bringing bare hands to a blaster fight against a veritable King of the underworld and emerging an ambitious, albeit bloodied and greviously wounded, victor. Lyle is ignored for the time being, the Vigo having made his dissent known - and that dissent does not shock Eson. He had seen the suprise in the eyes of even low level henchmen at his orders of assault on various opposing forces in the undercity of Coruscant.. henchmen who had served under a far more subtle Syndicate than that which the formidable but ruthless Twi'lek saught to sculpt. "I don't suggest you delay." he says to Karrde, his eyes never leaving the still somewhat battered figure. It was a sight few have likely seen of the Smuggler Chief. Yes, Karrde is something of an antithesis of Tyy. An embodiment of the fact that one can attain greatness without a deadly tyranny.. without a violent penchent for siezing that which one desires without due course of construction and labor.. oh, Eson labored alright.. but it was with a lust, and the labors were that of greed. Only the Black Sun syndicate was worthy of anything resembling truth or kinship within him.. and yet even they stood to lose a great deal. "Details of your OUter Rim operations or your life.. " interesting bargaining chips.. The smuggler chief, king of smuggling and the art of data, regards Tyy'sun silently a moment, the back of his head touching the wall behind him. Then Karrde straightens wordlessly, blood-streaked face set as he begins to move forward. Then a foot, lifting for it's step, shoves back, far, to meet the wall and the man launches himself at the crimson being, shoulder up in an effort to bowl the insane creature over. In his arrogance, the sudden attack is not even registered by Tyy'sun. For some reason the notion of a bargain had struck the Twi'lek with a glimmer of inspiration when Karrde suggested it. Why kill Karrde, when he might yet be milked. Of course, the deal would not have been honored - but the forthcoming strikes against the soon to be revealed operations would be better suited with a few intimate details gleemed from this pre-execution meeting.. and it was on those exact thoughts that Tyy'sun focused as Karrde did the unthinkable. And it was on the fact that Karrde had done the unthinkable that Tyy'sun focused as his back slams against the metal flooring of Triumph, the wind knocked from his lungs and his lekku flailing randomly from the impact! The impact is not without cost, as Karrde feels as if his head explodes at the effort. As blackness dims the room, the man goes to the deck along with his target, rolling and fetching up against furniture. Blinking his vision back into reasonable place, the smuggler grits his teeth and moves, gaining hands and knees to look around for a weapon. Nothing, everything seems to be standard to ships and bolted to the floor or otherwise immobile. He scrambles further afield, heading in the direction of the bar, with it's more suitable smaller potential projectiles. The string of outraged explatives that flow in the form of synaptic mental messages from lekku to the vocal chords of Eson drizzle out into the cabin in the form of a wheezing, zombie like moangroan. Blast vest aside, that shoulder was propelled by the act of a desperate man - a survivalist who has seen worse odds than these befall him and not only lived to tell the tale, but continued to thrive in ways beings like Eson envied in dark ways. Pushing himself upwards and to his feet, the Twi'lek then snarls in forced use of breathless lungs, willing them to comply as a ships mechanic might force a malfunctioning engine turbine with a determined push of his hands after normal means of repair failed to get it turning. Almost demonically he issues a labored, "Do nothing, Lyle! He's mine... " His wits about him, the pain in his chest only serving his intertia, and breath once again flowing, Tyy'sun does what he did not do (but perhaps should have) on the streets of Nar Shaddaa.. he draws the DY-255 from its holster at his side. Karrde manages to find the bar, pulling himself up by the edge of the table. There's no glancing back, at words or expletives, and Karrde scans the assortment quickly, sweat making the dried blood on his face dislodge and run again. Bottle, whiskey, never mind the quality. It's grabbed and dashed against the bar's edge with the sort of experienced move born of plenty of other needs. The movement is crisp and well-remembered, and the bottle's bottom breaks expertly. Thus armed, the smuggler whirls to find his enemy drawing a blaster. There's a longer than usual pause between sight and cognation, and Karrde looks suitably startled in the interim, before dropping to the floor again to seek cover with his bottle weapon. A chuckle is issued, though the sound of it betrays its intended effect due to the strained lungs producing it. Still, Eson's trains the blaster aptly on the cover seeking Karrde. The amusment is not wrought from a sense of accomplishment on behalf of the Twi'lek, but rather at the lack of cover available to the would-be thwarter of dastardly plans. The bar extended from the bulkhead, and has no rear section, but is simply a solid counter and drink display. The broken bottle would certain not provide a cover. "No more careful alliances and keeping others busy, Karrde?" his amused expression melts into what all three in the room know to be the truth of the being - anger. "Get up!" Karrde goes still in his crouch, as the options available for both cover and weaponry are found to be so slim. Breathing heavily against the jabs of pain, the smuggler listens to the Twi'lek, considering the options. He had few, the ending to this clear. It seemed to be what he did between now and then that would matter. If it mattered at all. "If you'd just -listen-, maybe we could work something out," Karrde's sharp retort comes from the floor, and the man rises from the deck, warily still gripping his glass weapon. "Look. There's plenty of room out there without trying to off every single boss between you and the Emperor. You want to know where I have no power? That I can tell you." "Oh, but I am all ears!" growls Tyy'sun, maintaining his stance and blaster poise, a crooked smirk forming on crimson lips. "Describe to me the corners of the abyss you would have me grovel in, Karrde.. describe to me the place you set aside for those who lack the grit to determine their own kingdom and fate." again the rage is revealed in expression and jittering motion of lekku. Something dark indeed rises in the Twi'lek, and the being stalks the floors once more after his chosen nemesis, the blaster firing suddenly and with intended precision! The ravings are clearly mad, though the cadence of what Tyy'sun says rings true for the smuggler. Here the man faces what he would, now, in his position at the top, all the others who just didn't get there. The would-be fringe bosses who clawed and were taken down as one step on someone else's road to the top, the ones who never made it for one reason or another. The kind of being Karrde worried about becoming, early on before his powerbase solidified in one twenty-four hour period of desperation and assassination. But it is not enough for pity now. As the Twi'lek moves again, Karrde moves slightly after, ready as one could be when being threatened in small quarters by a blaster. When the bolt comes, he's moving, and the stun shot only passes close enough to send him crashing to the floor, bottle rolling off into the unknown and leaving the smuggler fighting only to stay conscious now. Rage bourne of a dark past culminates within Eson as he stalks the remaining distance between himself and Karrde, his blaster clattering to the floor. Noting the glancing results of his shot, Tyy'sun walks a step past the downed icon of the underworld, then swings a boot around and crouches down atop Karrde's back with full weight. "Schutta!" the Twi'lek spits, grabbing a fist full of hair roughly, eyes ablaze with hatred. "I'v been in the hell of obscurity long enough you drek eating bantha licker." Tyy'sun's freearm comes around, but not to strike - rather to be shoved into the face of Karrde, an upclose and personal view of the crimson skin afforded the Smuggler Chief. "The stark white flesh of my lineage, Schutta.." the grip on the hair is tightened further, Eson practically rubbing Karrde's face against the skin of his forearm - the parched and leathery crimson skin of his forearm, "baked away under the never setting sun while the wealthy and powerful reclined in their thrones amidst the stars.. baked away under the tyy sun while my mother was raped and flogged to death by scavengers no better than the spice addicted garbage that lines both our pockets, Schutta!" if the blaster had not been tossed aside it might be brought to bare to finish the deed now considering the blind and personal emotion coursing through the Otactre of Black Sun, "And they will all know the truth of Eson.." screaming, "the POWER and WEALTH of ESON, SCHUTTA! Not the weak fool this galaxy took me to be, and you /will/ die in order for that power to be fully realized." The struggle to stay conscious is won, but not the way Karrde intended. The weight pressing him into the cold floor brings awareness back, unfortunately in time for the rest. The raving rings in his ears, boring down the experience of having his face rubbed into the arm into one of survival. Yes, he hears the words, and Karrde is not so gone not to understand them. He might feel pity now, if they were seated and both rational, but they are not. "Not this way, Eson," the smuggler chief manages, breathing made difficult by weight and arm. Karrde is pushed roughly away and Eson stands, his breaths labored for a moment from the emotion before calming noticably.. with an almost eery calm he then says, "What other way is there?"
* "Transmission from Ryloth, Mr. Eson." comes a sudden and unexpected call from the cockpit corridor entrance hatch.. the message is delivered with audibly shaky tones - the Twi'lek pilot standing there, somewhat taken aback by the scene she discovers, "I wouldn't interupt, but it is a distress call from Ryloth from someone claiming to be one Sarhavian Eson.." Tyy'sun just stands there regaining his composure at length.. and then the name settles in. Eson on Ryloth? A dark frown is put toward Karrde. Perhaps there was another way.. "Bind him.. land on the planet straight away and prepare a tight transmission to Ryloth. Take our guest to the compound for interrogation and then execute him when the proper information about his Outer Rim operations has been extracted..." Coughing, Karrde lies still where he's shoved, hearing the words distantly and not really understanding them. The bolt he expects, the one to end it all, doesn't come, and as he's yanked around more and bound, the truth comes slowly; this isn't over. Only when he's restrained does the smuggler allow the darkness back. Fade to black...
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