Log:AAA Freight: Nothin' Fancy
"Moments like this... makes ya proud to be a trucker. DADGUM proud..."
Reclining on a carefully-arranged pile of pillows near one of the loading ramps to his trusty old SoroSuub Nestt freighter, the King of Smugglers supervises as the involuntary labor force finishes hauling the rest of the shipping containers out of the deceptively voluminous cargo bays.
The shipping containers glisten in the setting sun, much like the sweaty bodies of the involuntary labor force.
'Supervising' might be a bit of a stretch when describing what Lord Zlurbo Qwig Makooja is doing. He's mostly just... watching with misty eyes as his trusty lieutenant, Lefty the One-Lekkued Twi'lek Dude does all of the actual organizing.
"And to think... them orphans is gonna have real CAREERS with the First Order now, soon as we finish unloadin' 'em... just goes to show you that a body CAN make a real difference in this craphill Galaxy if he just follows his heart."
Inside the shipping containers, the orphans' cries are mostly muted by the very thick shipping container walls. But they really have nothing to complain about, they've got careers to start.
"Lefty... is there any place nearby fer me to get somethin' ta eat? I'm a little tired of yer cookin'... no offense."
Lefty does not take offense.
The local fixer speaks up. "I know a good place. I can take you there. They cater for finer tastes like yours, Lord." She's Alana Zee, she made a respectable amount from her cut of the sale of the orphans, she makes alleycats and politicians look like pillars of morality, and she do anything for a price. "My source apologizes for the cargo that was damaged earlier," she adds belatedly. She doesn't sound sorry at all. "He will be reimbursing you for those."
Shifting on his luxurious bed of carefully-arranged pillows, the King of Smugglers turns his bloated face to give the fixer a look that's either curious or hungry. Either way, he's licking his lips, a large bead of drool dribbling down his nonexistant chin.
"See that he DOES... I work too damned hard ta be SHORTCHANGED! Too damn hard!" Mak balls up one of his pudgy hands into a fist, waving it menacingly in the air as he flails about on his luxurious makeshift throne.
Lefty winces, and reflexively rubs the spot where his left lekku used to be. He remembers all too well what happens when Lord Makooja's blood sugar is running a little bit low.
"Errybody thinks it's EASY, haulin' orphans... but an honest day's truckin' really makes a man work up an appetite. Lead on, li'l lady... I'll take yer recommendation."
Shifting again, he begins the arduous process of getting himself upright and moving. He's in much better shape than most Hutts, but that's still a lot of bulk to contend with.
The woman walks easily beside the Hutt, looking for all the world like she's taking a stroll in the park with a human friend rather than a giant slobbering Hutt. She doesn't lag behind or drift ahead, and she converses easily. "He won't damage any more cargo. I made that very clear to him and his remaining staff. He took responsibility for his mistake and heads did roll." Alana smiles sweetly. "I did suggest some candidates to fill openings, and I'm sure I will be satisfied with his new organization. I believe he has some family members working at the restaurant, too," she adds idly.
Contracting and relaxing his muscles, Mak propels himself slowly along the ground. It's not hard to keep up with a Hutt, but Mak manages to keep his pace somewhere in the range of 'leisurely stroll'. Too much faster and he'd be even sweatier than usual.
The citizens near the landing fields are either unused to seeing a Hutt taking a leisurely stroll, or just plain unused to seeing a Hutt. They tend to not get out very much, for obvious reasons, but Mak doesn't mind getting some of the grime and dust of the planet on his leathery skin as he oozes his way down the thoroughfare. "Don't think I've thanked you properly for all your work gettin' this contract filled... you're a real credit to bipedal lifeforms errywhere, Mizz Zee."
The freighter gets progressively smaller behind them as they walk toward... wherever Alana is taking them, and any crowds part well in advance of Mak getting near them. After all, it's easy to see him coming.
Alana looks innocently at Mak. Anything less innocent than this woman is hard to imagine. "Thank you. Your praise is a great honor," she replies demurely. She always manages to avoid coming over as obsequious, except on the occasions when she wishes to give that impression. "Down here.." she indicates an alleyway. From the outside, the building at the end of it looks remarkably like a windowless factory or warehouse of two stories. Alana's face is apparently enough to open the wide doors. The first floor is a somewhat stereotypical bar, private booths and neon tables and dancers and creatures of many species, but Alana leads the Hutt to an elevator. The masked guards step aside to let them board. Upstairs is divided into large private rooms. The scent of food is delicious (provided it's the food appropriate to your species), the furnishings are modern and clean, the waitresses of several species are beautiful, and what turns out to be the owner appears to greet the Hutt and his entourage. "How may I assist you?" he purrs. He's a human, but has undergone massive amounts of surgery (or suffered a remarkable injury) to now look like a white-skinned Zabrak. "Lord. I have a room reserved for you to dine, and enjoy our specialties. Is there anything particular that you would enjoy?"
It seems as if Mak prefers to work with people who don't give him the ordinary 'Hutt Treatment.' After all, that ruins his delusions of being an honest, hard-working, salt of the Galaxy truck driver. So Alana's lack of obeisance is more endearing than perhaps one would expect. He could stay on Nal Hutta and be fawned over if he wished.
Mak's excitement on being led into an alleyway is obvious. Exactly the grimy sort of adventure that he imagines a rugged man of action would enjoy. But it's clear he's suitably impressed by the deceptively hidden establishment, and his bulbous, yellow, bloodshot eyes light up as if he'd just been set in front of a trough full of expensive boozeslop and cheap prostitutes.
He attempts to let out a whistle, but as his mouth lacks the proper structure to do this, it mostly sounds like a raspberry. Lefty never bothered to tell him he's doing it wrong...
"Pblblblbtttt... you weren't lyin' about the accommodations, Mizz Zee... this here's 'ZACTLY what I had in mind...." He places a hand on the fake Zabrak's shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially as if he's going to whisper. He doesn't actually 'whisper', but he does use his Inside Voice for once.
"We don't need nothin' too fancy. Just bring us a couple dozen buckets of your finest chow. All mixed up. And a kilo of spice. And... couple cases of booze. And... go ahead and coat a couple of pleasure slaves in somethin' sweet, for the mid-meal dessert."
Releasing his hold on the man's shoulder, he turns to look at the relatively diminutive gangster.
"Did you wanna order anythin', darlin'?"
Alana considers the offer graciously. "Another pleasure slave, and a burger for me," she tells the man. "You know which one." She turns away and nods to Mak. "Thank you." Then they are shown into the private room. The furnishings are still modern and clean, to a point, but they are not new. There are some dings and dents in the walls and a patch of carpet shows a rusty brown stain. A large Hutt-sized couch easily fits Mak and company, and he can reach the low table set before it. There's an area of wooden floor beyond that, perhaps for dancing, and seating cushions arranged around the table. The air is heavy with a Hutt incense, possibly used to disguise the smell of Hutt.
The service is commendably fast, the table filling with the metal buckets of slop and the glass bottles and the vast bowl of spice and another large shallow bucket on a set of burners, keeping whatever is inside liquid. There's gallons of it. It might be chocolate.
The wait staff leave, leaving three pleasure slaves in the room, all scantily clad and female. Two are humans; a smaller girl with wide hips and heavy breasts and short dark hair in a neat bob, and a tall willowy blonde with a ponytail down to below her knees. The third is a near-human, blue-skinned and chubby with curly red hair and a bright smile. Alana gestures for Mak to help himself first.
It's always nice to find appropriate accommodations for a Hutt in a galaxy mostly populated with... things with legs. The fact that this place might be the only one on this side of the planet that caters to his species is not something that occurs to Mak. He's kind of used to things just lining up for him without paying much attention to how.
As he situates his enormous bulk on the couch, he's pleasantly surprised to find that the arm rest is exactly the right height for him to prop himself up on. After all, he needs to be propped up at all times so that he can readily access his blaster. You know, just in case.
"Pblblblbltttt... makes ya wanna skip straight to dessert, don't it!?" Mak's eyes nearly bulge out of his head, but he seems perfectly content to make the pleasure slaves wait for now. It's unlikely that they mind.
"But, can't do nothin' on an empty stomach, that's my philosophy. So..."
He looks at the assembled slaves, then back to his generous guide to tonight's debauchery.
"You..." He points to the brunette.
"And... you." This time to the chubby blue chick.
"Come on over here and feed me. Be careful with them buckets though, they're heavy..."
The brunette licks her lips nervously. The rubber-like halter top and hotpants she is wearing squeak as she picks up a bucket with some effort, and with the near-human she approaches Mak. There's some slight difficulty as they try to figure out how to get the bucket to his lips, but maybe he'll help them out by taking it himself. Alana sits demurely to Mak's right and smiles sweetly at the girl with the long ponytail. "Hello, Salia. Didn't your father just do business with the Lord Hutt?" she asks innocently. The willowy girl nods, uncertain as to where this conversation is going, and passes Alana her plate of some sort of burger, but Alana waits for the Hutt to eat first.
Feeding a Hutt is a fairly degrading task, no matter how much the Hutts insist that it's a great honor. It's also a pretty demanding task, physically, at least if the grunts from the pair of women are any indication. The metal buckets each hold more than ten liters of the finest ingredients from the kitchen, all blended together with a bottle or two of grain alcohol. Not unmanageable, but these girls certainly aren't professional weight lifters.
Fortunately though, feeding a Hutt isn't overly complicated. They merely have to haul the bucket over to Mak, stand on either side of him, and dump the bucket into his gaping maw. He doesn't really chew much, he just sort of devours, leaving only a bit of overflow dribbling down his chin.
The chubby blue chick licks the rivulet of Hutt Dribble all the way up to his mouth. Somehow, she manages to make it look kind of sexy. Either she's got a very strong stomach, or she isn't bothered by the Hutts inherent grossness.
"Salia? Well sheeeeit! You wouldn't be Ol' Frenko's daughter, wouldja? It's hard to see the family resemblance, when you ain't got his mustache..."