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[b]Zam’s Brothel, 3030[/b]

The sound of Zam’s house band filled the lobby of the brothel. It was a busy evening. Dozens of clients had come and gone in the past few hours, men and women from all corners of the universe, and it only looked to be getting busier by the minute. A lot of credits would be spent within the walls of Zam’s Brothel tonight. For the man in the red and black armour stood in the corner of the lobby that meant being on high alert all night. The more people that came through the doors of Zam’s Brothel the more chance there was of trouble. A group of Scarred Hutts had piqued the Mandalorian’s interest a few hours ago when they had interfered with the band but nothing had come it. The Mandalorian would be thankful when the night was done. On nights like these it was hard to relax.

In one of the brothel’s many alcoves the face of Ki Hobro appeared. Ki was Zam’s ward. She had been orphaned at a young age and had taken to working at the brothel in order to save. She wanted to see the Outer Rim and that took a lot of credits. Zam had disapproved but a Mon Calamari never let emotion stand in the way of a decision. They were dispassionate at the best of times. It was why the concern in Ki’s eyes concerned the Mandalorian so much.

From across the room he made out the word Ki was mouthing. “Trouble.”

As they climbed the stairs to the source of the trouble the Mandalorian heard the sound of Zam’s voice. It was old, weathered even, but there was a kindliness to it that was unmistakable. She stood in the doorway to a room and let a tired sigh slip through her wrinkled Twi’lek lips.

“What’s going on here?”

Inside a Rodian was buttoning up his trousers stood over an orange-skinned Twi’lek female named J’asta. She was heavier built than Zam had been at her age but the tails that dangled from her head were stick thin and sickly-looking. 

J’asta gestured towards the Rodian angrily as she reached for a robe. “This loser blew his load in thirty seconds and thinks that means he doesn’t have to pay for it.”

“That’s not true,” the Rodian shouted as he buttoned up his trousers.

The orange-skinned Twi’lek shoved the Rodian with her foot.

“Trust me, if I was going to lie about something it would be letting a pig like you inside of me in the first place. I am not lying and I am definitely not letting you Stars get away with this again. Every week you try it and I’m tired of it.”

The Rodian outstretched his hand and grabbed J’asta by her robe and placed one of his scaly hands around one of her head tails. “Oh yeah? And what do you think you’re going to do about it, little lady?”

“Not her,” The Mandalorian muttered as he appeared in the doorway with Ki. “Me.”

The man in the mask noticed the look of relief wash over Zam’s face as she spotted him. Once the Rodian noticed who was speaking to him he relinquished his hold on the Twi’lek’s head tail and stepped away from her with a nervous smile. Emblazoned on his arm was a black star tattoo that marked him as one of the twin’s soldiers. The Blackened Stars had been growing of strength and number of late. More and more of them were passing through Zam’s doors. 

“The whore’s lying, Mandalorian, it’s what they do.”

There was a haze to the Rodian’s eye that the Mandalorian recognised. He was on spice. It wasn’t unusual for clients to take spice before they came to the brothel. Zam had decreed long ago that no spice was to be sold on the premise. The second they let people sell within the walls of the brothel they would to pick a side. That was the last thing Zam wanted. Instead those that wanted to use it were told to do so before entering and anyone that caused problems whilst on it would be thrown out. For the most part people rode their spice high in the company of one of Zam’s many employees without incident. This seemed like one of the few exceptions.

The Mandalorian looked to Ki in search of answers. Ki was truthful to a fault. If J’asta had form with this kind of thing the Mandalorian would have seen it in Ki’s big shiny eyes. He was met with an earnest stare and turned to face the Rodian with a shake of his head.

“Hand over the credits.”

An incredulous look appeared on the Rodian’s face. “You’re seriously going to take her side?”

The Mandalorian reached down and placed one of his hands on the Sacros K-11 blaster on his hip.

“The credits.”

The Rodian muttered an expletive under his breath and reached around in the pockets of his trousers. After several seconds he produced a handful of credits and threw them onto the bed next to J’asta with a look that could kill. He fumbled with buttons for a few seconds before pulling on an orange jacket and storming towards the exit. As he passed them Zam looked towards the Mandalorian with an anxious smile. He could see in the old Twi’lek’s eyes that she had been more worried than she let on.

[center][b]*****[/b][/center]
Three hours passed before the Rodian darkened their door again. By then the house band had stopped playing and had taken to propping up the bar in Zam’s Brothel. The number of people passing through had dwindled and it was clear that the bulk of Zam’s business had been done for the night. Lone traders and smugglers from nearby systems that had stopped to sell things on 3030’s prosperous black market would stop in but for the most part the business day had come to a close. It wouldn’t be long before Zam decided to close up for the night. Yet there the Rodian appeared in the doorway to the brothel. His beady eyes were even mistier than they had been the first time and he clutched at a blaster between his fingers. The Mandalorian was the first to spot him and moved to confront him but the Rodian fired off a shot at the ceiling before he made it to him. The stragglers, the off work employees, and the band sat at the bar fell silent.

“Where is she? I want to see the tramp that stole from me.”

The Rodian slurred as he spoke and was wobbling back and forth. As the Mandalorian approached him he could smell the alcohol on the Rodian’s breath. If one mixed the wrong type of spice and alcohol it could have very deadly effects. Not on the user but those around them. Rodians were quick to anger on a good day but with all those hallucinogens in their system there was no telling what the Star might do. 

The Mandalorian’s calm, collected voice slithered through his mask towards the Rodian as he approached him. “You’ve had enough for one night.”

“I’m not sure that I have. In fact, I thought you might say that so I brought some friends along just in case.”

The doors to Zam’s Brothel opened and pouring through it can five of the Rodian’s friends. Each of them bore Blackened Stars tattoos on some portion of their body and were either brandishing or carrying blasters. There were two more Rodians, a particularly aggressive looking Wookie, an Neimoidian, and a human with a thick, red beard that hung down to his waist. 

From the balcony overlooking the lobby Zam’s voice sounded. “Look, boys, we don’t want any trouble here.”

A slurred laugh left the Rodian’s mouth as he paced towards the bar and picked up a drink.

“Trouble? Who’s looking for trouble? We’re here to spend some time with your women, that’s all, we’re not here for any trouble. Are we, boys?”

The human stroked his red beard with a chuckle. “Nope, no trouble here.”

The Mandalorian could feel the weight of the stares from the people behind him. He was all that stood between them and death at the hands of the drunken Blackened Stars. He eyed their weapons slowly and looked the Wookie up and down as he plotted his next move. Mandalorians had faced off against worst than the rabble assembled before him and lived. Yet he’d been paid to look after the brothel. Even if he survived drawing down on the men the brothel would be destroyed.

“Go home.”

The Rodian threw the glass down at the Mandalorian’s feet angrily and pointed his blaster at his red and black helmet. “Last I checked there was six of us and one of you, Mandalorian. I’m not sure you’re in any position to be handing out orders.”

The Mandalorian didn’t so much as flinch as the weapon lingered millimeters away from his face. Instead a voice came from behind the mask that dripped with contempt.

“Turn around and walk away whilst you still can.”

Again a drunken titter left the Rodian’s lips as he gestured up at the whores sat nervously at the bar.

“What’s wrong? You deaf or something? Maybe one of those whores is your girlfriend. What do you reckon, boys? Maybe the Mandalorian’s girlfriend spreads her legs for credits just like he does.”

On the balcony overlooking them Zam fingered the blaster she kept hidden beneath the ledge in case of emergencies. She had hired the Mandalorian for situations like these, she had hoped his reputation would be enough to scare away the Stars, Hutts, and anybody else that came looking for trouble, but the elderly Twi’lek was more than willing to get her hands dirty if she needed to. 

The Mandalorian issued one last warning. This time his contempt was almost tangible. There was no fear in his voice, no hesitation, and he stared down the barrel of the Rodian’s blaster without a sign of submission or panic. 

“I won’t ask again.”

There was something in the Mandalorian’s voice that stirred something in the Rodian’s Neimoidian friend. She stepped forward and placed a hand on the Rodian’s shoulder and whispered something to him. The Mandalorian’s red and black helmet automatically boosted its audio sensors as she spoke.

“Let’s get out of here,” the Neimoidian muttered. “This place is a dump anyway.”

Suddenly a look of clarity appeared on the Rodian’s face and he lowered his weapon. He holstered it on his hip and gestured to the other Blackened Stars to move out. They did so wordlessly and the Rodian turned his back to walk out. The human with the red beard backed towards the exit with a smug smile, pushing over a vase as he went, and gestured towards his eyes and then towards the Mandalorian.

As the door shut behind them there was an audible sigh of relief from Zam’s employees and the band. The Mandalorian looked down at the shards of broken glass at the floor in front of him and then up to Zam. She nodded at him in recognition and the Mandalorian looked back absently for a few seconds before disappearing down one of the alcoves and out of sight.

[center][b]*****[/b][/center]
A mouthful of vomit came bursting through the Mandalorian’s lips just as he pulled his red and black helmet from his head. For the most part the orange-brown mess landed in the sink in front of him but a portion of it sat within the helmet and along the Mandalorian’s black beard. The sweaty face beneath his beard was youthful and largely wrinkle-free. As the Mandalorian stared into the mirror at his face he wondered how long that would remain the case if he had many more nights like tonight. He wasn’t sure how many more nights like tonight he could even survive. He turned the tap on and washed the sick settled at the bottom of the sink away before beginning to wash the sick from his beard. His hands shook violently as he did so and he had to stop for a moment to calm his nerves.

From behind him came the sound of banging on the bathroom door and it made the Mandalorian jump more than it ought to have. “Mandalorian? Are you in there?”

The young man nervously reached for his helmet. He looked back at the bathroom door as it shook as J’asta’s fists banged against it and desperately attempted to scrub clean the sick from the inside of his helmet. As his fingers slid along it one of them slipped into the deep claw mark across the front where its previous owner had met their gruesome end. For a second he imagined himself meeting such an end at the hands of the Wookie that had accompanied the Rodian.

Again the orange-skinned Twi’lek’s voice called out to him. “It’s J’asta, I just wanted to say thank you for scaring those Stars away earlier.”

The Mandalorian began scrubbing furiously as he tried to hold back a retch. The smell made his stomach turn. A real Mandalorian would have been able to hold their stomach. The man they called the Mandalorian had heard they ate food that was so pungent that other people couldn’t bear to be near it. Here he was fighting back tears at the smell of his own vomit. Once the helmet was clean enough that he could fathom placing it back over his head he took a glance backwards. He could see J’asta’s silhouette stood in the doorway still.

“Go away, J’asta.”

This time the Twi’lek’s voice was tinged with suspicion. “Is everything okay in there?”

“I’m fine,” the Mandalorian called back as he placed his helmet back over his head. “Everything’s fine.”

He lingered in front of the mirror for a moment and stared at his reflection. The red HUD of the Mandalorian targeting system made the whole bathroom look blood red. Beneath his helmet the Mandalorian could feel water trickling down his neck where he’d cleaned the sick from his beard. He was trembling so much he had to grab the side of the sink to stop it. Under his breath the Mandalorian muttered a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening in.

He had flirted with death tonight, even more so than he usually did, and each morning he pulled on that armour he would be flirting with it once more. All he wanted to do was survive. He had dreamt once of becoming a legend, dreamt of becoming famous in systems far from here, but now all the Mandalorian wanted was some way out of the house of cards he’d constructed. He wanted away from 3030, away from Blackened Stars, Hutts, and Pure Hands. He wanted to go back to Ganthel and never steal from that cargo hold. He wanted to give the Mandalorian armour back.

He wanted the Mandalorian to die.

Alec Vendrell wanted to live.