Topic: Grindhouse Rpg (by Audition Only)

Kalu had hoped her shot had gone unnoticed but apparently it hadn't. She had to get out in the field more often, however it did not make her reconsider the offer on Telk. As Kalu looked on she suddenly had a feeling that there had been a bounty on the scarlet Twi'lek. She'd have to check the databanks on her ship to be sure.

It seemed that the party at the table was growing larger. Kalu eyed her brother hoping that he'd get the hint not to carry on his conversation about Telk's bounty. It appeared that he actually got the message. He began making rather lude comments about his ex who sat on her gambling boyfriend's lap.

Kalu took the opportunity to smack him on the head. "She may be your ex, but comments about how 'lush' certain parts of her anatomy are, aren't called for."

Nathu rubbed his head and looked annoyed, "At least I didn't shoot my ex."

Kalu snorted, "He had it coming."

Zenth looked intrigued, "You shot your ex?"

Kalu let out a sigh, "Yeah, he cheated on me and I showed him my thoughts on cheaters."

Jerricko held up his hands, "Geez, I wouldn't want to anger you, ma'am."

Kalu smiled, "You can start by calling me Kalu rather than ma'am. I'm not an old woman."

Jerricko grinned, "Clearly. Do you always shoot so accurately?"

"If given the chance, I don't like to rush my shots. But I will if I have to." Kalu answered.

// Oh wow...if that didn't suddenly come to a screaching halt and die. I blame finals, graduation, and that "work" stuff they have us all doing to make money entirely. However, I am back in action and willing to ressurect this if anyone's around and wants to keep playing? I know a couple of ways to make things interesting... Or I could create an ending for this story thread if you aren't to attached to it, and we could skip to the part two of the Grindhouse series and begin brand new characters for the Roleplay Game of "Planet Death."

Or I could start a few other ideas I had for roleplaying. Either way the fun doesn't end. :P   //

I will continue to participate.

I think this topic deserves another chance.

(Lucky I had time and email notification...)
I'm still watching if that counts, ready to go when I finally get some time.

Still in the game. Got a post half-finished from like 3 weeks ago...'m sry.

Excited about Planet Death, aka "The Plague II", but I'm more than willing to keep going. It's not too often I conjure a new character, especially a Force-user.

Les' do this. LEEEEEEEROOOOOY!

**Thank goodness, I thought no one wanted to play anymore :P **

JEEEEENNNKIIIIIIIIIINSSS!

Alright so who's gunna get this thing started back up?

// Awesomeness! We'll let  Sci finish his post.  Cuz I'd hate for him to waste so much time and effort.  (The chronometer's ticking Sci!) Then we'll just see where it goes from there... : P  //

If you'll recall, Groww had just pledged a life-debt to Drac for giving him the opportunity to kill his slave-master and essentially reclaim his freedom. Happiness reigns in his heart supreme.
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    Drac stood amid the gore-slicked floor of the fighters’ pit, half dazed, half unbelieving.

    A life debt? The Selonian’s mind was at a stand-still as the concept swirled through his thoughts. The oath that his new-found Tusken friend had projected into his mind was unmistakable, as if it had been outlined for him in his own language over and over, but Drac was still hesitant to accept a variable that would change the way he lived, perhaps until the end of his days.

    He knew what a life debt was, knew it very well may it do ya, but for one such as him to receive one seemed beyond comprehension and reason. He’d felt through his Gift what an impact he’d inadvertently had on the Tusken’s acquisition of freedom, but as far as he was concerned he’d done nothing to deserve such an oath of loyalty. His hesitance had other factors, however, and he couldn’t hide from them. Past confusion and feelings of inadequacy, there was genuine fear: he could hardly take care of his own life, how could he possibly manage to live with another at his side? Not to question the Raider’s survival skills, but some of the situations Drac had gotten himself into in the past had nearly been the end of him, and the guilt of leading a man who had so readily sworn his life to him to his death may very well be unbearable.

    But he was being selfish, and he knew it. Why doubt his own ability when this Tusken had only moments ago been set free in a galaxy he didn’t yet know or understand? This man had literally nothing besides the clothes and weapons he carried (as Drac did), and here the Selonian stood, above the bodies they’d slain together, fearing the idea of taking this warrior with him. Shameful.

    “There is only one thing more fearsome than a true warrior.” A wise man of the Zeison Sha had once told him.

    “And what is that?” Drac had asked, his youthful eyes full of wonder and curiosity.

    “Two true warriors.” The elder laughed, a sort of wheezing chuckle that somehow managed to accentuate both his extreme age and his unparalleled wisdom. Despite that laugh, Drac didn’t believe for one second that it was a joke.

    “Only one thing more fearsome...” The Selonian, now many years older, mumbled under his breath. He had made his decision.

    Drac bowed low in respect for all the Tusken had just sworn to him, a comical scene considering where the pair was still standing, but the Zeison Sha cared little. He straightened, was surprised to see that no sentient was currently barreling towards them with one weapon or another raised high, and opted to leave the pit while that statement was still valid.

    Follow. He sent to his new-found friend, seeing no other reason to stay and senselessly kill any more living beings. Drac left the cage, bound for the dining area for the second time in less than a quarter-hour, this time with another very unique companion in tow.

    The Selonian slid into an empty booth tucked into the corner of the Blue Sun, somewhere out of the way where he could try to sort things out. Decided or not, Dracmus never had much of a guiding star. Wind blows Northerly, he goes North, and that was the kind of person he’d always been. It was enough for him, and he was certain the Tusken wasn’t about to complain, but that kind of life might not be...well...fair, now that he was to share that style with someone else. Most beings needed an objective, a goal, a purpose, and so far Drac had found none that lasted longer than the next meal, the next target, or the next destination.

    Drac was afraid of disappointing his new companion, ashamed that his life wouldn’t be good enough, interesting enough, exciting enough. Depressing indeed, and a challenge he wasn’t sure he could conquer.

    What the hell are you saying? He scorned himself, shaking his head to wipe away the clutter of fear and doubt that had infected his usual black-and-white way of thinking. Enough consideration, his mind was decided, and that was the way it would be: the Tusken would stay, they would survive, and that was that.

    “Hey!” A voice that irritated him the moment it met his highly sensitive ears drawled. He glanced up at the speaker; a hefty human female with an agitated look on her face, and raised a furry eyebrow. The motion was imperceptible in the rippling ebony sea of his coat, but it matched the annoyed inquisitiveness with which he responded.

    “Did you want something?”

    “Ya, Fido, I asked if you or your....pal, were gonna order something or just sit there.” The waitress chewed a stick of gum noisily, and already Drac was surprised to notice his typically controlled temper starting to rise. He closed his eyes, calmed himself, and answered.

    “Of course ma’am, I was thinking, my apologies. I’ll have a water, my friend will have the same, and a....”

    Drac skimmed the menu quickly, chose an entrée not quite at random, and sent a mental picture of the meal to Groww. His choice, though he did not know it, was far from wise.

    "...a bantha steak.” Drac finished, meaning well and assuming that his Tusken companion’s handlers hadn’t exactly fed him well. A good steak would do the warrior’s muscles well, so what could possibly be wrong with a huge, juicy bantha steak? The bantha part.

       The image that the Selonian projected into the Tusken’s mind was simply that of a Bantha; large, lumbering, dry, standing before a sandy cliff on a desert world he couldn’t quite remember. The picture he fancied somewhat serene prompted the Son of Tatooine to fly to his feet, upending his chair as he did so, voicing that unique half-bark half-screech only a Tusken could produce.

    Drac, naturally, was thoroughly confused, and his hand enclosed itself around one of his discblades beneath his cloak. His leg muscles tensed, and he reached out around him with his “Gift”, thinking that Groww must have sensed some kind of threat.

    There was no threat, no enemy, no sudden movement or loud noise. Nothing. Drac’s confusion grew deeper.

    Groww paused for a moment, then bowed his head, and sent Drac an image of his own. The picture of the Bantha reappeared, though not alone. This time there was a Tusken Raider atop it, holding a gaderffii high and looking as content as could be. Along with the image was a word Drac had taught him in their short time together.

    Friend.

    All at once the Selonian understood, and turned back to the waitress, who was by now eyeing both of the wordless Force-sensitives very strangely. Drac apologized briefly.

    “He’d rather have a Nerf steak, Bantha’s a bit too tough for him.”

    The woman scribbled on her notepad, shook her head, and walked away, leaving the two wayward warriors alone. Drac felt more than little foolish for not making the connection between beast and master earlier, and causing such a scene with the Bantha steak debacle, but for his part Groww didn’t seem to mind much as long as he wasn’t about to eat the lifelong companions of his species. The Selonian sat back, trying to collect himself and develop a set of priorities for the time being.

    A disturbance quivered through his Gift’s aura of perception, and Drac threw a glance over his shoulder, feeling a rising tide of anger starting to grow behind him. Some of the Twi’leks’ party had staggered over to their little corner of the cantina, shared with the two warriors only by a lone Duro spacer, who at the moment was being confronted by the group of intoxicated men.

    “Hey, you with the head.” A Twi’lek shouted, his words slurred and accusing. The Duro looked up from his plate without thinking, wondering what the drunks could possibly want with him.

    “Which is more than I could say for you...” The spacer mumbled under his breath. Drac’s Selonian ears caught the jab, the Twi’leks’ did not.

    “We lookin’ for some privacy.” The lead man said, laying his hands down on the table across from the Duro.

    “Then perhaps you should extend your search to a place with considerably less people.” The pilot suggested sarcastically, shifting his attention back to his meal.

    The Twi’lek looked puzzled. His brow furrowed, as if he was trying his damndest to understand what the Duro had just said. At last, he came to the conclusion that it hadn’t been something he wanted to hear, and gave the universal answer for any half-wit with no regard for anyone else.

    “No.” He swept his arm across the table, sending the spacer’s meal skyward as his mates closed in behind the uncooperative Duro. He stood calmly, pushing back his chair gently and laying his napkin down where the half-finished plate had been. He wore no weapon.

    “I believe you owe me a dinner.” He said evenly, paying no heed to the larger men behind him.

    “I dun’ owe you nothin’.”  The Twi’lek slobbered, all of a sudden vivid with rage. “But tanks for da table. Now git outta heeuh.” He pulled out the chair in front of him, and made to sit down. The next thing his ass hit was the floor.

    The Duro stood over him, still posed as he’d struck: first extended before him, legs wide, eyes burning. He knew the fight was over, but he refused to be pushed over, walked on, swept aside. He’d stood tall and done what he could, and even as the rest of the Twi’leks bore down on him, Drac could feel the self-satisfaction flowing through the spacer’s body. He’d go back to his ship bloodied that night, but more than content.

    Half a minute later the Duro had been thrown out of the corner area, and the Twi’leks returned to claim their tables. It had been hard for Groww to keep his seat as the brawl ensued, and truthfully it had taken a good deal of willpower to keep his own body in check, but Drac had shaken his head and told him to wait.

    We’ll get our chance soon enough.

    He saw what was coming.
   
    “Hey!” A different Twi’lek addressed them, approaching their table. The Selonian looked at him expectantly. The drunk said nothing more, just standing there.

    “Hey what?” Drac provided, venturing a guess as to the man’s lost train of thought.

    “Oh. This is our table.” He said quickly, suddenly remembering his purpose here.

    “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We’ve been sitting here quite some time, and we have food coming, so you’ll forgive us if we stay awhile longer.” Drac said, polite as can be.

    “Oh.” The man walked off. After conferring with his fellows, he returned a few seconds later. “We wanna sit heeuh.”

    “Yes, we’ve established this. However, you carry no unique privileges in this establishment, and as such you have not the authority nor the right to request any table already occupied by paying customers. Goodbye.” The Selonian looked away. The Tusken looked at the Selonian. The Twi’lek looked confused.

    “We’re sittin’ heeuh.” He said when all other forms of argument left him dry.

    “No.” Drac repeated with growing aggravation. “You are not.”

    “Hey, whodoyuh think y’are?” The Twi’leks seemed to experience rapid mood swings when inebriated, because in an eye blink this one was moved to violence. He reached out and grabbed Drac’s shoulder, meaning to turn him out of the chair and fight him face to face. He never had a prayer.

    The Selonian was on his feet and facing him in an instant, but due in no way to the Twi’lek; the thought to even begin to pull on the robed beast-man’s shoulder couldn’t have happened fast enough. His eyes flared with a light bright enough to make the Twi’lek shrink back a step, probably against his will. They’d been as black as the rest of his body just a moment ago, but now they seemed to be tinged a wild electric blue. A moment later the phenomenon faded, but the alien never forgot those eyes.

    “His...” The Twi’lek trailed off, pointing vaguely at what his words couldn’t describe.

    “Who do I think I am?” Drac repeated the Twi’lek’s own words, advancing on him as he spoke. His Gift told him that Groww had risen from the table as well, confused but cautious.

    He’d not fought tooth and nail through his life thus far to be walked over by some drunken play boy now. Hadn’t mastered all the Zeison Sha had to teach him, killed a fellow warrior of that sacred tribe before dozens more to follow, hadn’t won the title of Zeison Sha warrior to back down in front of a wasted Twi’lek over a cantina booth. He’d asked for little in his life, but he asked – no, demanded - more than that.

     “I’ll tell you then, and you’d do well not to forget; for if you remember one thing when you wake up with that headache of yours tomorrow, you will remember this. I think I am no one, no one cares what I think, but I can tell you what I know. I am Dracmus Kleysik, son of Ferrumij and true warrior of the Zeison Sha; a father that now sees me a dead man and a tribe that now sees me an exile. I have been christened in blood long before this night, and so I tell you, Twi’lek, that you now know who I am. Now, let me be sure you don’t forget it.”

    The Selonian’s hands could do a better job of it than his words ever could.

    He'd hoped that the law-man would have broken things up long before now, but the reptilian didn't appear to care for much beyond what was absolutely necessary. The Twi'lek trying to grab the governor's gilly was just such a necessity; breaking up a tussle over a pair of tables was not. And so the Selonian's mind came to a begrudged but inevitable conclusion: they'd have to fight, again. Never before could he remember invoking the hatred of so many different sentients in a single night, yet here, in this accursed bar, he'd already carved through that damned fighter's pit twice, and here he was again about to place these Twi'leks in various forms of unconsciousness.

    I hate making a scene. He told himself for the umpteenth time that night, harboring a small sliver of relief in the fact that at least it would be done with quickly. Drunken Twi'leks didn't tend to present much of a threat, or so he reasoned. His reasoning was, as it often is, correct.

    He crossed his right hand to his left shoulder, flattened his fingers into a rigid board of bones and muscle, and drove it knuckle-side first into the side of the nearest alien's face. The Twi'lek reeled and toppled over the table his friends had commandeered from the Duro spacer just minutes ago.

    A dark-skinned human at a nearby table cheered and pumped his fist into the air:

    "Da's right! Bitch-slap dat mofo, deman' respe'c."

    Drac regarded him with a sort of mild amusement, and an almost imperceptible smile crept up the corners of his mouth as he turned towards his next target. Shifting his wrist, Drac unleashed an open-handed strike on the second Twi'lek's abdomen, calling on his Gift to give the blow even more destructive power. His target flew backwards in a long arc, landing in a heap next to one of the gambling tables. 8 meters away.

    The Selonian twirled on the balls of his feet, graceful as a dancer, meaning to engage the last pair of Twi'leks he'd marked before striking the first. Before he could complete his turn, however, his Gift told him what his eyes could not yet verify; they were both already out cold. He saw Groww standing over them as his body came to a halt, the strange double-edged weapon he wielded tinged crimson with fresh blood. For an instant Drac feared that he'd panicked and killed them both, but he discarded the notion quickly enough. They both breathed steadily, and while they each sported matching patches of blood on their temples, their lives were in no danger. With no mental urging, the Tusken had noticed that Drac had left both targets alive, and acted accordingly. The warrior was nothing if not observant...or sensitive with his own version of Drac's Gift.

    The Selonian's mind was just starting to clear the battle-haze away, and he was distantly aware that he was still smiling at the dark man's insane interjection. His eyes flicked over to the man's table, where he found him still staring at Groww and his furry companion. The human smiled broadly, and offered Drac a proud nod.

    "Damn straight." He said in that accented tone the Selonian couldn't identify. He realized, though, that it made everything the man said considerably more hilarious. "Representin' Yanibar, OG fo' sho'."

    At this Drac's eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

    "How do you...?"

    The man just kept smiling. He dropped a credit chip on the table, finished the last of his drink, and pushed back his chair. He stood, smiling all the while, tucked his chair back in, and strode towards the exit, leaving Drac in his complete puzzlement.

    How could he have known the home of the Zeison Sha? How did he know what I was?

    He would get no answer this night.

    He returned to his table where Groww waited, sensing each other's confusion. Drac waved a dismissive hand and shook his head.

    I know about as much as you do.

    Their food arrived (the waitress gave the unconscious bodies a wide birth and a troubled glance), and Groww began to dig in with ravenous intensity, unwrapping only the very bottom of his facial garment to eat, offering no one a glimpse of his species' true visage. Drac sipped his water (Groww seemed to give fascinated respect to the clear liquid in his own glass) and surveyed the cantina with cautious, black eyes. This was a dangerous place, and he was wrong to come here tonight. His eyes flicked over to the desert warrior eating across from him.

    Was I?

    It didn't matter, he decided, and shook the thoughts away. He'd make due, it was as simple as that.

    Eat quickly. He sent to Groww uselessly; the Tusken was eating faster than any man he'd ever seen, starving or otherwise. We leave soon.

((Great post Sci, as usual. I'm still in the game so everybody knows, I'm just not really seeing a way to advance the story.))

Ace was bored with gambling. He often grew tired of winning time after time, but right now his focus was on unnerving Nathu. He already had the boy's ex sitting on his lap, but that wasn't enough. How could he possibly be a bigger jerk? Then it came to him.

Put the moves on his sister old boy, said a voice in the back of his mind. Use the old Valerno charm. That's your ace in the hole so to speak. Start up a few sparks with Kalu; that'll really make the little hothead go wild.

The Chiss shook his head at the idea, scooping up another hand. The femme fatale was the kinda girl who'd only be annoyed by the smooth talking and flashy attire. He'd have to make this subtle or else he'd find himself at the wrong end of Kalu's blaster.

Twenty second's later, a confused Kalu was taking a drink off an outstretched tray. Ace flashed his teeth and waved to get her attention. Ace's smile widened as Nathu's face grew redder than Ace's eyes. Kalu resorted to shooting the Chiss a blank patronizing glare.

Can't win 'em all. Mission accomplished

Is the cage fight still going on?

**Draco, I think that Groww and Drac finished the cage fight**

Kalu could almost swear that Nathu had steam coming out of his ears. She clamped onto his shoulder before he could stand up. "I'll handle this." She said with a wink.

Kalu turned to Zenth. "It looks like I got this by mistake. Zenth, see the Chiss at the gambling table, he wants to be your friend. This drink is for you."

Zenth jumped up and down excitedly and clapped his hands. "A friend! I like friends."

Kalu smiled and glanced at the Chiss briefly, oh he had heard. "How about you give your generous friend a kiss on the cheek to say thank you?"

Zenth was heading towards the gambling table before the words were fully out of Kalu's mouth. Nathu laughed as his ex was shoved roughly off the Chiss's lap as he stood in attempt to evade Zenth. But he had no hope. Zenth had more energy than a hyperactive wamprat. He landed a kiss on the Chiss's cheek before he got two steps away from the table.

Kalu grinned. "We appreciate the drink."

((This is TheGunslinger...accidentally posted this as my brother. Just so you know. Not like it actually changes anything.))

No one can know what the passage of time will bring to an individual.

A Tusken child became a man. That man rose to become a leader of his people. That leader fell to become the slave of man. That slave, redeemed, found a place in the galaxy beside one not unlike himself.

A Selonian child became a man. That man rose to become a Zeisan-Sha warrior. That warrior fell to become an exile. That exile, redeemed, found a place in the galaxy beside one not unlike himself.

No one can know what the passage of time will bring, but occasionally patterns do emerge.

It is only to be expected that two creatures in a galaxy as large as this one lead strikingly similar lives. What is unexpected, however, is for the two to meet one night by complete accident in a bar neither had any intention of entering. Even more unexpected is for the two to form a pair for the rest of their lives. Those who would doubt the existence of the Force would be hard-pressed to explain such a phenomenon.

These and other mysteries of the galaxy swirled through Groww’s head as he sat eating his steak (which was NOT bantha). His entire life up to the present felt like a dream, some kind of foggy hallucination. Had everything in his life happened? Was there a planet with two suns and endless deserts that had once been his entire world, and did he live forty years of his life there? Did those years matter, if there was? Was he simply a pawn of the Force, a player in some story that he had no control over? Maybe those years prior were merely background for the truly miraculous part of his life, the part he was living now. Did he exist before tonight? Did he exist now?

He was jerked from his other-worldly musings by two simultaneous forces: one physical, his Dea’korrn’ya’s paw coming to rest on his shoulder, the other an emotion he sensed from the Selonian, one of urgency. Groww looked down at his metal plate, which he had quite forgotten, to find that he had already finished his steak. He became aware of the fact that his stomach was satisfied. He returned fully from that spiritual world to his physical body and its physical concerns. Wordlessly, he got to his feet.

The pair stepped out of the bar into the Ord Mantell street, the cool night breeze intensely refreshing after the heated chaos of the Blue Sun. Neither had to say a word; although Groww had never seen a spaceport before, he knew instinctively (was it his instinct he was using, or his Dea’korrn’ya’s?) that they were headed somewhere that would bring them off-planet. The destination did not matter to Groww in the least; the only thing that was of any significance to him now was the company.

The streets of major spaceport cities never truly go to sleep, but the avenue before them now was as close as they ever become. None but a few swaggering drunks inhabited the street, and the legion of lights that had formerly been blinding to look at were now at half strength. Down that road lay reentry into the life of the wanderer.
“Hey,” came a voice from behind them. The duo whirled around, expecting some dark shape to leap from the shadows, but presented instead only with a lone Duro, badly bruised and cradling an arm. The spacesuit he wore was torn around one shoulder.

“Sai patron,” Drac addressed the blue-skinned alien. He gave a nod of the head, which Groww (Knowingly? Unknowingly?) imitated. “You acted admirably when confronted with overwhelming odds. I commend you for it.” The spacer gave a short laugh.

“Well, thanks for that, even though it was nothing more than simple stubbornness. A refusal to yield even when there is no chance for success. I think I should be the one commending you, considering your victory over the drunks.”

“On the contrary, sai Duro,” Drac replied. “There is little courage involved when victory is assured. Few beings in your position, however, would have been able to retain their dignity.”

The pilot’s mouth, caked with dried blood at the corners, lifted in a slight smile. “I appreciate that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then extended his hand. “Cachi Losh, pilot-for-hire.”

“I am known as Dracmus, and my counterpart goes by Groww,” Drac added. He did not bother to explain the lack of an occupation; drifters are common sights in spaceports.

It was also, apparently, exactly what Cachi wanted to hear. “I don’t suppose that you two would happen to be headed anywhere specific.” It was a statement, not a question. “I happen to be out of work at the moment as well. I would be willing to bring you wherever you’d like- or nowhere at all, if you would prefer that- if you would be willing to help me with something.

Drac and Groww seemed to confer mentally, then turned and nodded to the Duro. “What sort of work, pray Cachi, do you have in mind?”

The pilot looked immensely pleased. “Do either of you know anything about Governor Telk?” When both shook their heads, he looked around the muted street. “Let’s head somewhere a bit more…enclosed to discuss this.” He glanced back into the Blue Sun, then shook his head. “Somewhere…not here.”

As the trio stepped into a bar across the street, Groww lingered to take another glance down the nearly empty street that represented his future with Drac. The life of the wanderer called to him…but it could wait a few hours.

Once he realized that he was the last concious, tangible entity in the arena, Zek decided to make his exit. Rather than the traditional method of doors, he simply hacked through the side of the cage with the vibro-blade of a corpse. When an opening large enough for his gigantic frame to fit through, he tossed the blade over his shoulder, and entered the cantina.

Are Robert Cummings and friends comming any time soon?

**Spam Removed**

Zek saw a large group of patrons of the establishment hudled together at a table. He walked near it, and heard something about a four hundred-thousand credit bounty. He quickly covered the rest of the distance, and questioned "Did one of you say something about a hunting job?"

**Let's get some action going...**

Kalu checked her chrono and realised that she wouldn't have the time to relish the reaction from the Chiss. Instead she stood and walked to the balcony area. She shifted her long arm against the balcony railing and found the correct window. She had come to this place not only to see her brother but also to work.

As Kalu took her time aiming the shot she heard someone shuffle behind her. It was the large tapestry of a being behind her. It seemed he was interested in the bounty. He seemed calm at the moment. But as she looked at him she realised that the normal hum of the city was anything but normal. At first she thought it was sirens, wailing, no it was mass screaming and panic.

Kalu shifted her scope and looked at the scene many floors below. It was a blood bath, creatures of all species and races were either eating or being eaten by each other.

Kalu looked at the creature beside her. "Did I miss something?"

Before the he could answer the Chiss emerged. "So you think that stunt was funny..."

Kalu blinked as the dark haired giant grabbed the Chiss by the shoulder. "Listen," was all he said.

Ace whistled as he quickly realised what the chomping, tearing noises were.

"Yeah, something was always eating at me about those lower level patrons." he remarked shaking off the behemoth's grip.

"What the hell is wrong with them?!" Kalu demanded fiercely gritting her teeth.

"Hey look lady!" Valerno interrupted not nearly as disturbed by the gruesome scene. "The buffet downstairs doesn't change the fact that you threw off Ace Valerno's cool. And when some broad throws off Ace, she better make damn well sure-"

Ace stopped talking because it was hard being a jerk sprawled across the balcony floor with a broken nose.

"If you know what's going on down there," said the mercenary slowly over the injured Chiss' obscenities. "You'd do good telling me what you know."

In a fraction of a second Ace had his blaster up and pointed at Kalu from the floor. Her weapon was already lowered and steadily aimed back at him. His arms were shaking and she could see his blood-matted lips breathing heavily. Stand-off. The Selonion stood motionless watching as his robe swirled about him in the wind. The silence was broken only by the rush of speeders overhead carnage below them.

"Take me to your boss. Now."

Kalu watched the Chiss with cold calculation. He wasn't as confident with a weapon as she was. Not only that, she could already see that the only being he cared for was himself. He'd cave, his own life was all he treasured. As she predicted, he lowered the weapon.

"What makes you think that my boss knows anything about this?" The Chiss said.

Kalu smiled cooly, "Because scum like you gravitates towards power."

The Chiss looked oftened. "Well excuse me madam, just because I'm not some big shot sniper doesn't mean I don't want to get somewhere in life."

Kalu actually laughed at that. "Somewhere being the next gambling room."

The Chiss glared at that. "You do what you're good at and I do what I'm good at."

"Clearly that's looking after yourself and changing the subject." Kalu jerked the blaster from his hand and threw it to the creature behind her. She had a feeling it was safer in his hands. Then she pulled the Chiss to his feet. "Now then, you're taking us to your boss."

The Chiss straightened his clothing in a huff and started back inside.

Nathu stood as he saw Kalu following the Chiss. "What are you doing?"

Kalu smiled, "Trying to get some answers about the drama outside."

Nathu looked puzzled. "What trouble?"

"Hear the screaming? It's not just the fighting in here, it's outside and it's a bloodbath." Kalu pointed out.

Dreeda came running to the Chiss. "What's happening? What's going on, Ace?"

Kalu smirked, "Ace? Oh how original. Now then, Ace and I have business, Dreeda."

Dreeda pouted, "Are you dropping me, Ace?"

"Yes," Said Nathu. "See what it's like to have your heart broken!"

Dreeda sobbed and ran away before Ace could answer. Kalu looked at Ace, "No tears for your lovely Twi'lek?"

Ace shrugged, "Easy come, easy go."

Nathu lunged at Ace. Kalu elbowed him in the chest, "You can kill him later. We need him for now."

((When you're ready to come in Firlov's office I'll jump back in.))

((I always assumed that the Plague II portion would be like a separate RPG, not connected to this one, like the actual Grindhouse movies.))

((No idea, I was just sick of waiting for some action... I'll leave it to to Gojan to decide. I can get rid of the above posts if you want))

((This doesnt have to be Plague II. There could be a difference between these zombies and the infested citizens in Plague))

((Alright, it's been a full month. Time to do something drastic.))

Cachi’s ship reeked of time and use. It looked ancient and derelict (as the best ships often do), and the inside did not belie the rough, pock-marked exterior. Even as Dracmus sat in the tiny common room at the center of the craft, he wondered at how the ship had ever managed to fly.  He’d noticed that some of the armor plates looked shorn and mangled on the outside hull, and inside everything seemed to be in unorganized chaos. His eyes drifted to a greasy wrench resting on a counter where food might have once been served; a large machine with whirring lights and protruding wires occupied a full half of the table they gathered around; everywhere he looked, there was something out of place or forgotten, giving the vessel a grimy, well-worn feeling.

    Drac decided he rather liked it.

    The Duro sat at the open end of the long table, now wearing a large slugthrower that adorned most of his upper leg. Besides the weapon, he looked very much the same; bloody, bruised, skinny - but still oddly happy. It seemed impossible to extinguish the little alien’s high spirits, an occasionally annoying but valuable trait, Drac noticed.

    “I couldn’t tell you how many people want him dead.” Cachi was saying. For the past quarter of an hour he’d been explaining to them who Governor Telk was and exactly why there was a price on an Imperial Governor’s head. “The Rebels, naturally; any jealous subordinate of his; rich citizen who doesn’t like the way he keeps jacking up the taxes so he can embezzle even more of the peoples’ money; hell, probably even his wife, judging by the way he keeps that Twi’lek girl around. In my, or our case, it’s the Rebellion.
    
    “A small sect of the self-proclaimed ‘freedom fighters’ are laying low in some of the smaller mining communities, and decided that while they were here, they might as well make their presence felt and knock out an Imp official or two. Or, more precisely, pool their credits and hire someone else to knock out an Imp official or two. Well, Mr. Telk is first on their list.”

    The Duro spacer slid a datapad over to Drac, and when the Selonian picked it up to inspect the face displayed on its screen, he recognized the image instantly as the man who’d strutted into the Blue Sun Cantina scant minutes after he himself had entered. His eyes widened in surprise as he placed the pad back down on the table.

    “I’ve seen this man before.” Drac said, suppressing the excitement rising in his chest. Could it really be this easy? “He was in the cantina tonight.”

    Groww looked on with interest, feeling the excitement in his friend but not quite understanding why it was there. Language was a troublesome barrier indeed.

    “Yes he was.” Cachi agreed, smiling broadly. “That’s the very reason I was there, doing a bit of reconnaissance. You can understand why I was so reluctant to have my table and my view taken from me.”

    Drac nodded in comprehension.

“Still,” The Duro continued, “I think I’ve seen enough. The Governor has two bodyguards; maybe three, I’m not sure if that scrawny little gillie he keeps is for anything more than looks. Anyway, the first is a big mercenary that goes by Smoke, very experienced, very dangerous. The second is another female, a Falleen, which is to say drop-dead gorgeous. She’s a cold killer from what I hear, and walks around toting one of those ridiculous Imp repeaters. I heard someone call her Sheeka.”

    The eccentric pilot laid his hands on the table, palms down, and faced his two soon-to-be-partners. “And that’s all she wrote, gents. Two hired guards, one scantily clad slug-head, and we have ourselves a bounty. Now, what do you say?”

    Dracmus closed his eyes, and sifted through the information that had just been given to him. It was crude, with virtually no plan whatsoever, but the concept of facing only two professional soldiers was very tantalizing. How many had he and Groww gone through in the area?

    The arena...

“We’re forgetting something.” Drac said, opening his eyes and seeing Cachi’s smile falter. “The pit fighters. The prize money comes from the Governor doesn’t it? It’s his entertainment, bought and paid for.”

    Cachi saw where this was going, and nodded his agreement, the grin was gone now.

    “That money is all they’re fighting for. If they have half a brain between them, they’ll figure out that if we kill Telk, we kill their payday. If we do it, we’ll have to do it fast, or we’ll have half the cantina screaming for our blood.”

    “I don’t mind the risk.” Said Cachi immediately, “After all, there’s no telling when he’ll be this vulnerable again. Tonight is perfect; we know where he is, who he’s with, and how to get to him. It’s better than going after him while he’s locked in some Imperial stronghold behind a battalion of stormies.”

    “This is true.” Drac muttered. Cachi had a good point. A very good point. This would be their only chance in the foreseeable future to have the Governor this terribly exposed. It was now that Drac noticed he was referring to the job as “theirs”. Why was he even going along with it? Why was he helping the pilot kill a man in cold blood for money? What happened to the honor of the Zeishan Sha?

    “Cachi,” The Selonian said, suddenly very quiet, “I’ve killed dozens of men in my time, but I believe I’ve never murdered a single living soul. This man...before we decide to execute him, I must know; does he deserve to die?”

    The Duro gave him an appraising look, as if he was just now grasping the Selonian he was dealing with. His face remained expressionless as he spoke:

    “Telk has reportedly stolen hundreds of thousands of credits from the people living here, calling it taxes. Those ‘taxes’ were supposed to be used to restore the city. If you’ve taken a look outside, you’ll detect a bit of foul play. Anyone who gets too loud about protesting it disappears in, say, a speeder crash. It’s no secret that he cheats on his wife with that scrawny thing he always keeps at his side, which would explain why Mrs. Telk doesn’t accompany him on this night out. Even without hard evidence a file of his wrongdoings, anyone can tell that Governor Telk is no Antarian Ranger.”

    Drac felt relieved. Here was a sinner, to be sure, and a damn bad one. If he could think of no other reason, he’d do it for the people here, and the hope that the next man to take over wouldn’t be such a blood-sucking aristocrat. A slim hope, but a hope nonetheless. His code of honor would allow him this.

    “Very well, I agree.”

    “Well that’s fantastic.” Cachi said enthusiastically, not even looking at the black clad Zeishan Sha exile. His wide eyes were on the sand-robed Tusken beside him.

    “And you, my creepy friend?”

    Groww looked to Drac, who opened his mine and reached out with his Gift.

    Will you fight with us tonight? We go to bring justice, but there is much risk. The choice is yours.

    With hardly a pause, Groww rose to his feet and hefted his Gaderffii above his head. Startled, Cachi tensed and dropped his hand to the butt of his enormous slugthrower, but his actions were unneeded. The Tusken Raider bellowed one of those honking war cries that only his people could produce, and then promptly lowered his weapon and sat down.

    “He says yes.” Drac translated.

-----------------------------------------------------------

    Another scant half hour of planning and the three were on the street again, striding purposefully back towards the Blue Sun Cantina, which Dracmus had hoped never to enter again.

    “We use the side entrance.” Cachi had said back in his ship, as he showed them the layout of the cantina. “We can block off the main elevator right from the start, avoid the crowd around the center stage, the patrons at the bar, and the gambling tables.”

    The trio walked past the main doors without a glance, and turned onto another street. Within seconds the side door was in view, and they came to a halt in front of it.

    Back in the ship again:
   
    “Alright, we know Sheeka uses a Repeater.” Cachi said, “But Smoke’s a bit of a wild card. He wears a blaster, but he’s got a vibroblade under his shirt, we should expect him to use either.”

    “Obviously.” Drac agreed. “I’ll take the big one, Smoke. Groww can handle the woman.”

    The Duro winced slightly as Drac announced the pairings so casually. He hoped the Selonian wasn’t underestimating them.

    “Which leaves the target for you.” Drac finished, nodding to Cachi. “Is that alright?”

    Cachi nodded. “If you two know what you’re doing, I’ll bag Telk.”

    And so it was decided.

    Back on the street:

    Drac reached out, grasped the handles of the double doors, and pulled. The Selonian, the Tusken, and the Duro crossed the threshold into the cantina. Stage one: Arrive, complete.

    “Excuse me.” Said a figure at the side of the door as they walked past him. “Unless you plan on entering the pit fight, I must ask you to leave your weapons in the check room.”

    Cachi looked nervous, apparently he hadn’t expected this. Perhaps further security had been put in place especially for the governor tonight. Either way, they did not want attention so fast.

    Drac looked at the man, the species of whom he did not recognize. He reached out with his Gift, and took hold of the doorman’s mind. The man collapsed within seconds, utterly bewildered at the sudden and unbearable exhaustion that took hold of him. A Jedi would have called the technique Morichro, Dracmus called it improvising.

    No one seemed to notice the short exchange, as there were people passed out and snoring throughout the bar, and the three continued. They passed the main elevator on their right, putting themselves between it and the Governor. Their only concern now was the private lift in the VIP room. They passed the side bar now, and to their immediate right, they laid eyes on Smoke and Sheeka, blocking the VIP room’s entrance from everyone they didn’t approve of; in essence, from everyone.

    Cachi sauntered off towards the primary bar, trying to look as casual as he could. Maybe passers by would believe it was the lights off the center stage that were making his domed head sweat, and not the prospect of assassinating an Imperial officer. Everything seemed to be going well.

    The Duro took a seat at a table a few yards away from the bar, and glanced behind him. His glassy eyes took in the hundreds of amber-colored bottles with glee.

    Back in Cachi’s ancient ship, he had disclosed to them part of the art that was gunslinging. Indeed, the rounds now resting in the handle of his pistol were not the standard metal slugs he usually packed, but specialized, crimson-tipped cartridges he had showed to them with immense pride. Now, he got to use them.

    The spacer abruptly whirled in his seat, tucked his pistol into his left armpit, and fired. The gun’s position muffled the flashbang of its discharge, and made the source of the flaming tracer round nearly impossible to determine for anyone who wasn’t paying close attention. As the mountain of hard liquor set fire, Cachi jumped up like everyone else, and ran towards the side exit. The route, incidentally, would take him back towards the VIP room. 
   
    The moment the two guards’ heads turned towards the inferno, alarm etched on their faces, Drac and Groww began to move. A pair of discblades sliced through the air, criss-crossing elegantly as the Selonian guided them at Smoke. Groww pounded at Sheeka, voicing the Tusken war cry again and raising his Gaderffii for the first strike.

    Stage Two: Raise hell, in progress.

    Smoke’s mask blasted a massive cloud of smoke into the air as he exhaled in surprise. The mercenary could barely see the two small, glittering objects hurtling towards him through the air, but his reflexes saved him. He ducked at the last possible instant, and the two blades lodged themselves in the wall behind him. Snarling, Drac wrenched his arms backwards, and the discs returned to his hands.

    “And who the hell are you?” Smoke asked, sounding insanely unsurprised as he pulled his blaster.

    “No one of consequence.” Drac responded, “My quarrel here is with the Governor, not you, and if you’ll forgive my haste, I have no wish to kill you.”

    “Really?” the old merc said, blatantly unconvinced.

    “Really.”

    “Well, see, there’s a small problem with that little plan ya got there. See, I get paid to make sure people like you don’t kill my employer, he being the one you plan on killing. I assume a smart...thing, like yourself can understand why I’m inclined to refuse instead of letting you walk by and murder my paycheck.” Smoke held his blaster ready, not firing until it was clear their fight was to be continued. It was strange, how some codes of conduct rule people who appear to have no leash at all.

    “I murder no one.” Drac growled, and crossed his arms over his chest, preparing to throw again. Smoke understood there would be no more talk, and opened fire.

    The Selonian dove to the side the moment his discblades were airborne, dodging Smoke’s first well-aimed bolt by scant inches. His own attack bore down on the mercenary again, and for a moment Drac was sure that this was it, that it would be impossible for the merc to dodge both of the blades this time. He was half-right.

    Smoke only dodged the first one, and barely. The tips of its four blades nicked his shoulder, drawing a few drops of blood but otherwise causing no damage. The second discblade went careening through the air, deflected in a flash of sparks by Smoke’s vibroblade. Drac was bewildered by the speed in which he’d drawn the weapon, and lost hope for a quick and easy end to this fight. Smoke was a hardened veteran, and would not be killed so simply.

    Dracmus stretched out with his Gift, and sensed Groww engaged in a very peculiar fight. He glanced over to see his friend swinging his Gaffi stick viciously in an attempt to land a solid blow on the Falleen woman dancing away from the powerful strokes. Whenever she could find an opening, she would loose a burst from her repeater at point-blank range, which Groww would in turn predict and avoid. It was like watching a lightsaber duel, but instead of the gleaming Jedi weapons, the combatants used a Gaffi and a heavy repeater. He’d never seen a fight quite like it.

    “You can’t afford to take your eyes off me!” Smoke bellowed, and he was right. Only Drac’s Force-enhanced reflexes allowed him to spin away from the mercenary’s volley of blaster shots, and suddenly he was on the defensive. He threw a table down in front of him and huddled behind it, listening as chunks of the wood were scorched away by Smoke’s barrage. 

    Drac closed his eyes and reached out, trying to shut down his opponent’s mind as he’d done to the doorman. The moment he touched the mercenary, he knew the efforts were futile. Adrenaline and hatred burned together through his consciousness, and any attempt to gain control was instantly overpowered. Drac found himself getting frustrated.

    He snapped up from behind his little piece of cover, raised his right hand, and sent a bolt of lightning coursing through the now smoke-filled air at the hired bodyguard. The unexpected blast knocked him off his feet, and made a smoldering wreck out of the Corellian suit shirt he wore. Smoke grunted in surprise, but showed no other outward signs of pain; Drac respected his immense self-control.

    Smoke kick-flipped to his feet with the same startling speed in which he’d drawn his vibroblade, apparently barely affected by the fork of lightning that had just sent him to the floor. The mercenary stared wide-eyed at the Selonian standing before him, arm still outstretched. Before he had believed the would-be assassin had been a skilled fighter, but nothing more. The phenomenon that had just scorched his very expensive shirt proved otherwise, and all at once he understood what he was up against.

    And so they stood for what might been seconds, minutes, or even hours, just staring and appraising what they both thought had been inferior opponents. It was Smoke that broke the tension in the air. His Merr-Sonn 434 Deathhammer roared twice, hurling two crimson bolts of energy at his Force-using enemy. Drac swept an arm through the air in front of him, and then sidestepped. The first shot tore past his ear, and Smoke saw the second impact directly over the Selonian’s chest.

    Game over. He thought to himself with a smug smile, You played well, but it’s over for you.

    Another streak of lightning blasted Smoke into the wall behind him. The mercenary struggled back to his feet, dropping his burnt and broken blaster as he did. He blinked black splotches of nothingness out of his vision, and gazed at the Selonian in shameless disbelief. He saw the blaster bolt explode dead center on his chest. He saw it.

    To be painfully precise, what the mercenary had seen was the lethal bolt dissipating some six inches from his target’s body. Creating Force Shields was an age-old technique of the Zeishan Sha, and Dracmus had learned it well before his exile. But to even be forced to use it...Smoke was witnessing a very rare event indeed.

    Lowering his arm, Drac loosened the Shyarn in its sheath. Now, they could fight on even ground, blade to blade, man to man. It was the Selonian that charged. For one terrible moment a memory flashed in his mind. Here he was, Shyarn at the ready, charging a young, enraged Cerean man with the same weapon. He was the only one to walk away from that fight.

    He closed his eyes against the memory, and shook his head violently to clear it. When he opened them a moment later, Smoke was a single step away, already mid-swing with his blade. Drac drew and parried with the same liquid-smooth movement, and drove the Cerean blade forward. Smoke twisted out of the way and swiped at the Selonian’s long muzzle, but his wiry opponent ducked out of the way. Still in a crouch, Dracmus extended a leg and spun on his opposite paw, knocking Smoke’s legs out from under him. He spun the sword in his hand so the blade pointed towards the ground and his prone enemy, and slammed it down.

    Smoke rolled to his left, using the time it took Drac to regain control of his Shyarn to get to his feet again. He raised his vibroblade in both hands, and readied himself for the next attack. As they were at a distance, they appeared to be each other’s equal in close-quarters combat as well. Smoke was enjoying himself thoroughly.

    It was only now that Drac noticed how hard it was to breathe. The air reeked of burning alcohol and wood, and he saw that the bar had caught fire from the ignited liquor. Smoke was quickly filling the Blue Sun’s interior, and Drac wondered how long it would be before they either had to move their fight outside or die of asphyxiation.

    His thoughts were swept away as his black, wandering eyes fell on Cachi, sprinting full force through the thickening smoke towards them. He passed the Selonian and pounded towards the VIP room to do his part of the job.

    Smoke’s eyes followed him as he ran in between the two fights raging outside the VIP area, and it was a full two seconds before he could think enough to act.

    “Sheeka! There’s another one!” The old mercenary bellowed, issuing a thick stream of white smoke from his mask that wove and clashed with the dark cloud around them. He slashed viciously at Drac’s torso, throwing the Selonian off balance as he struggled to parry it. Smoke followed up with a solid kick to the cloaked beast-man’s head, knocking him to the floor in a heap of fur. Smoke whirled and took off after Cachi before Drac had hit the ground.

    The Falleen woman had turned at her partner’s yell, and instantly noticed the little Duro pelting towards the VIP room door. She jumped backwards and leveled her repeater, pulling the trigger the moment she had a clear shot. Taking into account her considerable skill and experience, Cachi could very well have been killed the following second. Taking into account the angry Tusken dueling her, he very well couldn’t have.

    Groww swept his Gaffi upwards, striking Sheeka’s repeater and shifting her spray of bolts into the cantina’s ceiling. She turned to re-engage her opponent...

    Cachi ran on. He had just reached the door to the VIP room, and was not surprised to find it locked. His slugthrower turned the handle and lock into a smoldering hole, and he kicked the door open. Governor Telk stood before him, his scantily clad Twi’lek cowering behind her employer. Before he could so much as raise his pistol however, a massive body crashed into him from behind. It rolled with the takedown, and when Cachi looked up from his spot on the ground, he saw Smoke, upright and terrifying, grasping a vibroblade in his right hand. He raised it, stepped so close that Cachi could see the ridges on the underside of his boots, and brought it down with terrible force.

    Cachi closed his eyes as terror gripped him. It was all so fast; he thought, that when it was his time, he’d have time, time to think, time to be afraid. Now he only had time for the latter, and only an instant. He felt insanely depressed, disappointed that his life would end so soon, so normally, so boringly, on just another bounty. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he just kept his eyes shut tight and tensed, wondering if it would hurt.

    There was a sound of rushing air, the distinct clang of metal on metal. And suddenly, Dracmus was there.

Kalu was drawn away from the chaos from the floors below as the bar erupted into numerous fights. Fist, blasters and blades were coming into play all around her. Nathu was across the room from her and was fighting off a drunken Zabrak that seemed to have a lust for blood.

Kalu considered shooting but the chances of a clean shot were slim to none, instead she pulled a pistol from hip and smashed the butt against the Zabrak's horned head. Nathu gave him a kick in the guts for good measure as he slumped to the ground.

It was then that Kalu smelt smoke. "There's a fire." Nathu stated before Kalu could.

"We better get out of here." Kalu said, looking for the easiest exit.

Nathu grabbed her sleeve, "Telk is still here, we could take him out."

Kalu frowned, but her brother had a point. The massive bodyguard and the Falleen assassin had their hands full with other brawlers. Although Kalu did recognise those battling the two bodyguards, she suspected that they were hear for Telk.

Despite her better judgment, Kalu followed her brother into the kitchen which was aflame, into the bar in the VIP room.

Kin should have been doing something, but the others were having too much fun to be interupted. Still sitting, just watching. Could be for the best, a few could ferret there way through the entertainment, if he was a bodyguard that was an okay idea. But, we all have our priorities, and this wasn't one of them.
Kin got up, throwing the repeater over his shoulder he left Telk. Sliding through the kitchen he'd take the back door out, knocking into two people wasn't exactly planned or a fire for that matter.
"If you two are plannning on killing him, shoot him in the legs first. I'd like to see that bulk crawl away without them. Either way, this Imperial is leaving."
He waved, kicking the fire door open, the alarm barely audible above the roar. The city streets blown about by a fierce wind ripping through the buildings. A black hovercar waiting at the end of the alley. Inside a collection of troopers, the screen filled by the head of the Admiral.
"So, planning on an accident happening?"
"No, but the "Fire suppresion" the alarm summoned might arrive too late. Accidents after all, are no one person's fault are they."
Kin leered, taking a seat near the front, closed his eyes.
"If it works Admiral."
The morning glared on the horizon as the hovercar waited.

Running at top speed, Zek burst through a wall, into a room obviously filled with violence. This sent him tumbling down to the ground. "How do I get out of here?!" he bellowed.

((I apologize if that is too intrusive, but it was the best I could do to get back in.))

Ace dipped low to avoid a blast and swept his matted mouth with his sleeve.

Damn! he thought. And my favorite jacket!

No time for that now. Now was survival time. He snapped his head upward just in time to see Kalu smash a sorry Zabrak's face in. He shuddered again recalling the muscle on that girl. She wasn't like the club babes that was for sure. And he had to admit, when she said all that stuff about him only caring about himself, it'd cut deeper than he'd expected. It was all true of course, but it made him care a little more than when people usually bad-mouthed him.

Well, where the hell are they going now? he demanded as Kalu and Nathu sprinted into the inferno of a kitchen.

Whatever. It meant less baggage for him. He slapped a palm down on the floor in front of him and dove forward into a cartwheel flying over the fallen Zabrak. With his free hand, he grabbed at the objects in the poor barve's combat belt. Damn, no blasters, but these would have to do.

As he flipped out of the cartwheel he instinctively dispatched an unlucky Rodian with a well-placed kick to the skull.

Valerno couldn't believe his luck. He'd probably scuffed his heel with that move. Honestly, this just wasn't his kind of night.

The cocky Chiss bent his knees prepared to swing as he flipped out the Zabrak's twin vibro-blades. Just as well he supposed; he was kind of lousy with a blaster to be honest.

Sensing movement behind him he simultaneously thrust out his arm and whirled around slashing another brawler through the neck. The lethal move was followed by a gushing of blood that Ace barely avoided. The drunken being sputtered and choked, clutching his slit throat, and went down.

Critics of the Chiss might have called him a fool for gambling this way with his money and his life, but the whole bit was just too much damn fun to pass up.

After stepping over his last body, Ace found himself face-to-face with another adversary. A furry species he didn't have time to identify before he'd filled his torso with rapid knife wounds with his fists of fury.

Ace smirked as the next guy went down. The hairball didn't even have time to lift his blaster. Then the card shark saw something that did call for concern. A mean-looking Trando looking straight at him. This definitely wasn't the sherrif, but he looked as if he'd eaten his entire litter as a pup. The new nuisance took a few steps in Ace's direction, so then the blue-skinned badass decided to do something unexpected.

He turned and ran.

Naturally the Trandoshan didn't like his quarry scuttling away on him, so he broke into a run. And wouldn't you know it? Ace kept right on running too. He kept going straight up the wall at the end of the room flipping over so that he was behind the cold-blooded bastard. He spun the blades once and jammed them both roughly into the edges of his scaly spine.

This wasn't as easy as it sounded. Trandoshan scale and tissue isn't exactly tender, so when the big guy finally fell, he dragged Ace, who was still tightly gripping his blades, down with him.

"Damn it!" shouted Ace, not heard over the sounds of battle in the wrecked cantina.

He finally pulled both knives out with a sickening squelch and turned around marveling at his own strength. Unfortunately, when he turned, he turned right into a line of mean looking mugs holding some awful scary looking blasters.

Ace grinned meekly spreading his arms in a gesture of sheepish innocence. Ironically he was still holding the bloody vibro-blades in both hands.

"Well gentlemen," he stared slowly taking a step back. "I'd love to stay and chat, but you see... I have to... run..."

And with that he hurled his left-hand knife straight between the eyes of the nearest gunman. By the time the assembled group had witnessed their comrade fall into a lifeless heap and aimed their weapons at the place where Ace had been standing, the slippery Valerno was already halfway to the burning kitchen.

A volley of red bolts followed him as he dived into the kitchen and tumbled into the VIP room.

"Valerno!" he heard Nathu shout after seeing him fly in amongst the blaster bolts (which had incidentally all missed their target). "Where the hell have you been?"

Ace stood up shakily and dusted his clothes off pocketing his remaining vibro-blade.

"Y'know," he replied. "Hiding. Cowering. Whatever you call it."

"Well give it a rest," snapped the human. "My sis and me are trying to keep you alive and it makes it all the more diffuclt if you're crawling under tables like a little girl."

"Well geez Nathu," Ace smiled clapping his reluctant companion on the back. "The least you can do is give a lil ole barve like me a second to catch his breath. Now, speaking of which, where exactly did that fine-ass sister of yours get herself to anywho?"

Kalu was making her way through the room that was filling considerably with smoke. In the midst of it sat Telk, smoking a cigar.

"The building's on fire, hadn't you noticed?" Kalu pointed out.

The Imperial tilted his head to the side slightly as if to observe an insect. "I noticed, but how did you get passed my security?"

Kalu shrugged, "They're busy."

"With friends of yours?" Telk asked although he didn't sound particularly interested.

"No, just people interested in killing you." Kalu replied casually.

Telk looked up at her, "So do you also fit into the category of the killing group?"

Kalu shrugged, "If the price is right."

Telk stood slowly but didn't reach for his pistol. "Well is it?"

Kalu shook her head, "I prefer to live, I don't think any price is worth dying for."

At that Telk smiled, "At least you're not as stupid as the other bounty hunters."

Before Kalu could reply, Telk had her pinned against the wall by the throat. "You're much prettier than the other hunters, perhaps you'll make a better example to them."

Kalu managed to pry his grip loose enough to speak. "There'll be no remains from the fire."

"Who said I'd string you up here? I have better plans." Telk grinned.

Kalu returned the smile as she smacked the heels of her boots together which made a small blade spring from each of the toes of her boots. She kicked out at Telk and got him just above the knee. She turned the blade fiercely with her ankle and watch Telk grimace.

He dropped her and stepped back. "Feisty, I like that. Perhaps I'll let you live a bit longer."

Before Telk to continue, Nathu came storming into the room dragging Ace behind him. "Back off you piece of nerf!" He shouted.

Kalu took the opportunity to raise her pistol and smash it over Telk's head. He turned looking rather angry, "If that was meant to render me unconscious, you failed."

Kalu was beginning to wish that she'd followed her instincts rather than her brother's greed, this Imperial was one mean son of a Sith. She twisted the pistol in her grip and fired.

Groww snarled with frustration as his flurry of gaffi blows was completely dodged with fluid ease by his opponent, the one called Sheeka. He might as well be attacking a puff of smoke, or even a ghost; the strikes which should be tearing her to pieces whipped through empty air time after time, her body contorting into vaguely awkward positions to remain an inch ahead of the two ends of the weapon, and her face a constant smirk, mocking his inability to connect.

Groww's attack ran out of forward momentum, and the slack was instantly picked up by his nemesis. Leveling the barrel of her repeater, she squeezed the trigger and let loose a volley of red energy bolts. Had she been using something more accurate at this close range, Groww would undoubtedly have been killed far earlier in the fight. Something this massive, with such intense kickback, threw off the aim of even the steadiest hand. Of course, the ability to fire upwards of 1000 bolts a minute reduced the disadvantage by quite a bit.

It was all Groww could do to keep his Force-enhanced premonitions from driving him to a panic. Each shot was preceded by a vivid vision of the damage it would cause when - if - it connected.
Shot to the shoulder, blood everywhere- The shot went wide.
Shot to the foot, you fall down and it's over, it's all over- He slid his foot to the side and avoided the blast.
Shot to the knee, you fall forward and impale yourself nicely on your own gaffi- he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a subtle motion just enough to spare his knee from the shot, but not quite enough to keep the burlap-like kilt he wore from getting singed.
Shot to the head, you're dead, this is it, you're dead His neck snapped back as of its own accord, and he watched the blaster bolt with his name on it sail by inches above his goggled eyes.

Unnoticed by both combatants, a trio of bar patrons ran past them into the VIP area.

And with that, the repeater's clip was emptied, the volley was done. Not a single hit, but still the Falleen's face was a proud smile. For some reason, this bothered Groww severely. He pressed his attack once again.

Providence has favored me this far...but I have pressed my luck long enough. I need to end this now.

A solid slash with the serated end of his gaffi, a strong followthrough from upperleft shoulder down to right hip. The attack was easily dodged. This was expected; the handgrip switched in an instant and he delivered a quick jab with the pointed end. This attack had potential, but was yet again avoided with seeming ease. A third motion: rather than a slash or a stab, this was a twirl, an attempt to hit with either end or both, in a single motion. A casual observer would have been reminded of a baton, while Jedi might recognize rudimentary double-bladed lightsaber dueling technique. Both were foreign to Groww; he thought of it merely as improvising.

Yet this attack too was evaded by the smirking Falleen.

Groww saw the woman's confident smile out of the corner of his eye, and he felt his blood rise to its boiling point.

The gaffi, still spinning, found its way around his back and over his head, a maneuver that probably should have cut its owner as well as its intended target. Neither ended with a scratch. Sheeka still looked unimpressed and almost at ease, waiting for the final blows in the assault so she could avoid them as well and finish this mildly amusing duel. Groww's mask appeared as impassive as ever, but underneath he was livid: his teeth were bared in a bestial snarl, and his eyes, hidden behind the nothing of his black goggles, were filled with hatred.

This was nothing he had ever felt before. He hated the men who enslaved and killed his people, but in words only : that event was so traumatic that he had never been able to feel much of anything relating to it. He had been numbed by the alien chaos he had been thrown into, a numbness that had only disappeared today, upon meeting the Selonian, his dea'kornn'ya.

A Force adept such as Groww has no understanding of the light or dark "sides" of the Force. All he knew was at this moment he was experiencing an unnatural sensation. The anger he felt went beyond wanting to beat his opponent, or even above frustration at his inability to do so. This was something far more primitive, something more animal than sentient. This was no delicate human emotion; it was an animal instinct, based on some essential need.

Right now, he needed to beat the Falleen, savagely.

He let the animal part of his brain bubble up over his rational part. He hurled the gaffi away with all his might (ignoring the scream of pain from the bystander he impaled in the process), let loose a bellow of raw hatred, and hurled himself upon his opponent in a full-body tackle.

He felt immense satisfaction as, for the first time, the smile on Sheeka's face faltered.

They were on the ground, Groww on top and Sheeka beneath him. One bandaged hand ripped the rifle from her momentarily loosened grasp, while the other collided with her face, probably fracturing her cheekbone. The punch had damaged his own hand as well, but in his current state of mind he was incapable of caring. All he felt was intense jubilation in having hit his opponent. He tossed Sheeka's gun off to one side and brought the fist that had held it in for another punch, this one no less exultant. A third blow brought a torrent of blood from the woman's nose (which was almost certainly broken by the blow); a fourth caught her in the jaw, and he felt (or perhaps it was only imagination) the teeth behind the cheek wall give way.

He should have stopped there: Sheeka tried to draw breath, and began choking on the blood flowing down from her nose. Yet another punch, and another, found their way to her rapidly swelling face. He was caught up in ecstasy: he reveled in each blow, in the shape of her face that was becoming rapidly more grotesque by his hand. He needed to hurt her more, so he let loose another blow. Still unfulfilled, he struck again. Again, again, again, until-

The warning did not even flash in his mind; there was no mind working at the moment to receive it. He felt the hot pain in his middle, felt the vibrodagger slice into his belly, and for an instant it amplified the rage that had already consumed him. He focused it all into the only motion he could make: a devastating crack rang out as his head collided with Sheeka's, and she collapsed, unconscious.

Then, in an instant, the rage was gone. Groww rolled off his opponent, gasping in pain as her blade cut again on its way out. He tried to stand, but was forced back to his knees by the searing pain. He looked down; the wound was far deeper than it felt, and was bleeding far more than expected. He looked around in hopes of catching his dea'kornn'ya's eyes. He could not, and before he could begin to think of what to do, collapsed with a whimper. The chaos of the bar fled before the blackness.

Telk moved before Kalu's blaster bolt could find it's mark. She decided that his guy was far better of dead than alive. Nathu also had his blaster out but he wasn't a great shot. It seemed thatTelk wanted to play. He didn't go for his own blaster, but instead ducked from cover to cover like a side alley gaming stand.

The range was too close for Kalu to use her long arm, otherwise she would have taken him out in a second. She managed to wing him and he only laughed harder.

Kalu gritted her teeth and was about to fire when she noticed Ace chasing the Imperial.