D E L Q U I N ‘ J O R R ANar Shaddaa - Refugee Sector
Del leaned back in his chair for each of the ”team’s”
appearances, nodding his head in acknowledgement as they all gathered around. When the blind guy called out Mo’, he kept his cool; though his left finger began to fidget slightly; he was practically ready to kick backwards and start drawing his blaster when Mo’s cover was “blown”. Except no one seemed to pay the Kel Dorian any mind…until he just popped up, acting sheepish as hell.
“Uh-“ he interjected, “The Kel Dorian here who seems incapable of speech is my first mate, Mokra. Don’t mind him. He just blends in with the crowd really well.” What a great lie.
He kept eying the Miraluka, wondering if a force sensitive would drawn in as many credits on the market as a live Jedi would. Still, discretion was always the better part of valor, and backstabbing one’s partners at the beginning of a job was never a good idea. He could backstab them later, once money was in their palms and everyone turned their backs with well wishes and fond farewells. Jobs never ended with fond farewells.
Nar Shaddaa – Lower Quarters, Two Months Ago
“Del myo nyee, understand da this sa just poonoo.”
Del found himself tied to a chair, his left eye a dark purple color. His lower lip was split down the middle, blood drippling from his mouth onto the floor. His coat, his blaster, everything was thrown onto the floor next to him. He shivered as his white tank became speckled with his own blood as two rodians held him up to face his former boss: Frizo the Hutt. Frizo was thin for Hutt standards, a dark blue-grey skintone with crimson outlines. The slug seemed quite content with his catch, and was content grandstanding in front of Del.
“You call tying a man up and having these soft handed bugs rough me up business?” Del’s good eye stared the slug down, and he tried to force a smile through the blood in his mouth. “Frizo old buddy, you’re going soft in your old age.” ” Killing u right ateema would be soft. By doe tee-tocky jee-jee're done gee u unko, u will beg je che death.”
“Right, right. I’m going to beg you for death. What are you going to do, have your boys tickle me to death?” This was luck at least. Frizo wasn’t planning on killing him; something that made him tense less. He’d purposely kept Mokra in the dark about Frizo’s meeting; sending Mokra to check on some deliveries in the system while he met with Frizo. He was a scumbag, but he didn’t want Mokra to get too involved with Frizo from the get-go. The Cartel was messy, and once they got their hooks in you, they didn’t like to let go. ” Let's stuka kava porko u talk gee do wings clipped.”
One of the rodians approached with a small holoprojector, showing a live feed of the Quillwing being fitted with magnetic locks, and suddenly beginning lifted out of the docking bay.
“Do ship sa mine.”
Nar Shaddaa – Refugee Sector
Del eyed everyone around the table now. He grabbed a drink front the tray, and took a sip, and finally introduced himself. “I’m captain Del Quin’Jorra of the Quillwing.” He then smirked, sizing up everyone in the bar. The money on the miraluka can wait. I think I can get my ship back now.
“None of you guys are chummy with the local Cartel goons around here, are ya?”