Log:Hard Target: Nardo Vig Pt. 2
Hard Target: Nardo Vig Pt. 2
OOC Date: January 18, 2024
Location: Nar Shaddaa, Corellian Sector, The Musty Pit
Participants: Ezlo Rafe, Amal Jha, Sumi Kora, Valeska Kora
Profile: Nardo Vig
Species: Pau'an
Homeworld: Utapau
Height: 1.85 meters
Weight: 102 kg
Hair Color: Bald
Eye Color: Yellow
Distinguishing Features: Pronounced Limp
Last Known Location: Apartment Home of one of his Mistresses, Alara Smoot.
Education Level: Masters Degree in Currency Manipulation
Favorite Book: "How to Manipulate Currency Without Being Caught" by Zootius Mro-Kwal
Missing Since: Telona, 1178
Profile: Alara Smoot
Species: Aqualish
Homeworld: Ando
Height: 1.9 meters
Weight: 110 kg
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Black
Distinguishing Features: Well-curled beard. Pronounced neck glands. Penchant for revealing lingerie.
Last Known Location: Apartment in Gilded Spire, New Vertica.
Education Level: Not very high.
Favorite Book: "Oh, the Places You'll Glow" by Dr. Hraghraaarr
Profile: Zekulon "Big Zek" Fripp
Species: Human
Homeworld: Corellia
Height: 1.75 meters
Weight: 81.64 kg
Hair Color: Gray
Eye Color: Blue
Distinguishing Features: Brown teeth, covered in a gold, bejeweled grill.
Last Known Location: The Musty Pit, a Dive Bar in the Corellian Sector known for terrible beer and live massiff fights.
Education Level: Doctorate in Thug Life, with a second doctorate in Keeping it Real.
Favorite Book: "Grakkus the Hutt: A Life" by Bio-Bot
Profile: Id Zwibbl
Species: Trandoshan
Homeworld: Nar Shaddaa
Height: 1.6 meters
Weight: 90 kg
Hair Color: None
Skin Color: Uh...
Scale Color: Green
Eye Color: Yellow
Distinguishing Features: Prominent beer gut. Currently missing several teeth (they'll grow back).
Last Known Location: The Musty Pit.
Education Level: Can read pretty good.
Favorite Book: "Musclebound Pounders XIV" by .... wait... that's a holovid. Does it have to be a book? Okay then, "Massiff Breeding, for Simpletons" by Anonymous
Location: The Musty Pit
A crumbling, ancient garage in the Corellian District of Nar Shaddaa. A mere two stories tall, it isn't even on many current maps of the area, but it doesn't really seek out any customers who don't already know about it. A leftover from when landspeeders were more common than airspeeders, the garage still possesses the familiar greasy smell of engine repair, even centuries later. Some of the old equipment is still lying around. However, it's been repurposed as a dive bar for longer than anyone can remember, unless that person is perhaps a Hutt.
The old vehicle repair pits have also been repurposed. Massiff fights are the preferred form of entertainment, attracting many of the local lowlifes to gamble on the vicious spectator sport. Don't let the shabby lodgings fool you: fortunes are made and lost here, and the massiff fights are to the death. Sometimes even to the death of their owners. Get too close to the pit, and there might be another spectator fatality.
It takes a special mixture of economic and societal decay for a place to be considered one of the roughest areas of a city that covers an entire moon. And when that moon is already considered one of the roughest places in the entire Galaxy, it provides a mental snapshot of the sorts of people who must be forced to live here. Worse, it provides a mental snapshot of the sorts of people who live here by choice, and profit off of the sundry miseries of their fellow sentients. Such people have been among the ownership and clientele of 'The Musty Pit' for centuries now.
As an air taxi touches down, the droid pilot notes that this is the closest 'actual' location to the provided address. With its updated lunar positioning satellite map, the droid has no way of knowing that 'The Pit' has been technically condemned since Jabba was a huttling, and has been scheduled for demolition for almost as long. But from the taxi's vantage point across the old permacrete street, it looks as if the place is relatively bustling. There are bouncers at the door, and a small line of well-heeled patrons outside. There are swoop bikers lurking outside, who seem to be either terrorizing the local homeless, or possibly jumping in a new member. Prostitutes of various species and genders can be seen, though they're uniform in the sense that they are mostly of a spectacularly unglamorous sort of sex worker. Thumping music can be heard from the building, which either says much about the quality of the speakers, or the ramshackle nature of the ancient bricks holding the building together. It's probably a little of both.
It's not the sort of place for a kind-hearted Ardennian with a persistent shroob-smoking habit. But it is exactly the sort of place for a hardened, fearsome bounty hunter. The sort of person that Ezlo Rafe seems to be attempting to look like, in a noble attempt at faking it until he makes it. Notably, he's both cleaned up a little and dressed down. For it wouldn't do to look too much like the homeless rabble who are denied entry. Nor would it do to look too much like a hardened, fearsome bounty hunter. It would do even less to look like a potential law enforcement officer. But then, avoiding excess trouble is Ezlo's strategy in most situations. There are other schools of thought.
Tugging at the collar of his sweater, Ezlo produces a very tightly-rolled, almost miniscule shroob stick. So small, in fact, that it requires a tiny set of tongs for him to hold it up to his mouth. Inhaling as he lights, he looks a bit calmer almost instantly.
"There we go. Can't get TOO spaced... know what I'm <KAFF!> saying? It's all about getting just the riiiiiight amount of spaced. That's... uh... <KAFF!> that's my philosophy."
Flicking the utterly spent roach away, he looks both ways before he starts to cross the permacrete street. Slowly, trepidatiously. Who knows? There could be speeders.
"You uh... ahem... you guys think that hooker was full of drek? Or... uh... you think our boy mighta been here to raise some Wupiupi?"
"Are you not the bounty hunter? I am only considered a member of the guild under sufferance." The Guild Master was a kind soul and all. Of a sort. If you knew how to fight. And you didn't get on her bad side. "What did you think? You were the one listening while we were doing the interrogating." Amal who had remained still and silent through the ride, came to her feet and exited the taxi. She did not move to pay the droid, as that was being handled by someone who was not her, duster falling in to its usual sleek lines. She looked, well, as she always looked. A beacon of very recognizable white on white.
There's not much of a costume change when one's daily outfit consists of full body armor and matching headpiece. Especially when she's 'on the clock,' so to speak. Valeska walks along with the group empty-handed but plenty to choose from on her person. An array of weaponry move with the thunk of wide hips covered by a dense kama to hide likely more toys beneath. Valeska is always armed to the teeth but in her older age is less keen of drawing first and asking questions later. Maybe it comes with raising three kids. Maybe she's just tired.
Or maybe she's learned some discipline in that time. Maybe.
Valeska's helmet turns to rehard the very short man, the leader of this expedition, with that ever-present amuesment in her voice not even the vocoder can mask. <<"Who's to say, yeah? Would be stupid of her to lie to us after we got the drop on her so easily in her tower. If he -does- frequent here, it'd be a matter of other scumbags knowing him by name or reputation.">> A gloved hand touches the top of Ezlo's head. <<"You wanting to go on another flight, little man?">>
"Rule number one of bounty hunting," Answers Sumi Kora, her voice a slight rasp as she steps beneath a light and flicks her smoke off into the distance. "..you always follow the money." The short Mando'ade was in blue and silver plating marred only by a pair of brands along her shoulder; one bore the sigil of her tribe and the other marked her as 'blood of the dragon' for any who might read the markings of Mando'a.
She slides her helmet down over her head, concealing her exotic scarred face and dark eyes behind a mirror-like T-visor. Feline ears that doubled as comm uplinks, tying her into the BHG galactic network, remained alert (because they were hard plastic and could be nothing else), and admirably cute, just because.
The small armory at her reach was concealed beneath the confines of a tattered cape. She juts her hip and waits for the call, or whoever is calling the shots.
"A flight? Nah man... I just ate, you know? Don't wanna... uh... well, you get it."
He looks at the group, taking in the various opinions, and then continues toward the bar.
"Yeah.. yeah.. uh.. I was just checking."
The shortest member of the group looks a bit out of place up toward the front, but if he seems to be gulping as he crosses the street toward this obvious hive of scum and villainy, it's probably just because he's deathly terrified of being murdered by the violent poor. It's a common fear, suffered by hundreds.
Still, say this for the weird little alien, despite clearly being uncomfortable with it, he's actually going through with his crazy scavenger hunt, which is much more than can be said for his brother Draviz. Maybe Draviz wouldn't be their parents favorite if they could see him now, approaching a pair of... very large... uh... very scarred...
He starts to turn around, but catches himself. Takes a deep breath, and approaches the Houk Bouncers posted up outside.
The Houk bouncers look suspiciously at the approaching group. Sure there are other motley assemblages within the Musty Pit, but the would be finders of Nardo Vig are an especially mismatched group.
"Hey uh... we're interested in... uh... that is... you guys got any uh... criminal activity that we could participate in? Like... inside?"
One of the Houks begins cracking his knuckles.
As the Houk began the process of getting ready to make paste, Amal stepped ahead of Ezlo, "Oh, good. So it's the fghting pits tonight? Something with which I am well acquainted." Amal was tall, for a female, but looked miniscule compared to the large alien. Still, she only waited, patient as the grave. Not a woman unaccustomed to being faced with someone trying to seem the heavy. "The bar is open, yes?"
Sumi didn't bother asking. If they wanted to stop her, they were welcome to try. <"They are with me,"> She growled aloud, heavy boot falls jingling (thanks to spurs) as she moved closer to the bumping music and inside of the club. Out of view, and beneath the confines of her cape, her gloved hand rested upon the handle of a weapon she could employ instantly should one of the Houks have a notion. Otherwise, she moved right on through.
"Kidding... just kidding... obviously uh... upstanding guys like you wouldn't be doing crimes. But uh... if you were though, that's cool with us, man. We like doing crimes too. Unless you guys aren't into that, man. But uh... I'M WITH HER!"
The group's token Ardennian takes advantage of the movement of his compatriot to sneak in as well, following so close that if it were a race people would accuse him of 'drafting.'
The Houks seem sufficiently impressed with the armor-clad members of the group. Far more impressed than they were with the multi-armed neurotic that smells like Dank Shroob, anyway. They also seem pretty impressed with the woman in white, though one of them looks a bit confused, as if he's sure he's seen her somewhere before. They seem to have basically begun ignoring the strange space monkey, but then it's probably hard for them to look so far down.
"Yeah... bar's open." The Houk seems a bit taken aback by the question.
"They gots BEER too. At the bar." The other Houk chimes in helpfully.
Nodding "Your boy is weird. Make sure he don't fall into the massiff pits. They're on strict diets."
"Yeah... and they can't mate with him 'cuz... HE'S TOO UGLY! HAR HAR!"
"Too ugly for the massiffs! HA! That's real ugly!"
The other Houk slaps his buddy on the back for that one. Houk humor is very subjective, like all humor. They seem like nice boys who pay their regular tribute to the Cartel.
"Anyways... you folks enjoy the bar."
The inside of the bar is about what one would expect from looking at the outside. It's an old garage space, presumably used to service landspeeders a very long time ago. It still has the musty smell of working people, and the harsher smell of industrial solvents and various types of engine grease. It's long since been turned into a dive bar, however, though it's technically listed as a 'condemned structure.' The old service pits have been converted to another use, with active Massiff Fights taking place fairly frequently. One is currently transpiring in one of the pits, where a large, dimwitted-looking Trandoshan is yelling at what is presumably HIS massiff, which is currently in the process of ripping up an opponent belonging to a very unhappy Toydarian.
Watching it all from the second story landing which overlooks the entire area, a middle-aged man in a shabby suit is sipping something brown out of a dirty cup. He's a fairly unassuming sort, compared to all the weirdos within the place. But his pinky ring game is on point.
"Thank you." That, to Sumi, as the Mandalorian Alor and Guild Master got them through the door. Once inside, Amal stuck out no more or elss than she always did, which was to say, quite a lot. But there was no immediate movement towards the bar. Rather, there was a careful perusal of the interior, faces checked off on some internal datapad. "I make two of the potentials. One overlooking the pits. Human," a slight tip of her chin indicating that direction, "And another down at the pits, Trandoshan. Preferences?"
Sumi relays a quiet nod in response to the gratitude offered by the Echani. Once they began to pinpoint targets, Sumi runs a cursory scan making use of her helmet and the face-scanning technology implemented in her HUD for her helmet. Facial recognition for those who had bounties, or those they were looking for, filled the data bank as it began its process of identifying the denizens of this poor sector.
Although none would hear Sumi speak from the voice emitter of her helmet, those wearing comms would; her voice lower, and cold sounding. <<"The Trandoshan winning is Id Zwibbl. The one on the second floor is the Corellian, Big Zek. -- Might be best to split up. I can take the Trandoshan.">>
Sumi isn't great at interrogating. She prefers grunt work, bashing skulls and breaking bones. So this.. might get interesting.
"Man... all this excitement... tell you what, I got a mean case of the rumble guts now."
Ezlo certainly looks uncomfortable, making his way through aliens that are almost uniformly much larger than he is. It takes him a bit more effort to wade through the crowd, but fortunately he's sticking close to the more intimidating partners he was lucky enough to snag for this... we'll call it a mission.
"I should probably hit up the refresher while you... uh... look for clues?" He almost certainly didn't mean for that to sound like a question, but Ezlo is clearly still in full on fake it mode, though at this rate it's doubtful he'll ever really make it.
The Toydarian looks devastated as the remains of his prize Fighting Massiff are returned to him, almost sarcastically, by the Pit Droid. 'Pit Droid' means something very different in a place like this than it might on the racing circuit, but they seem to have repurposed actual pit droids to help manage the bloody spectacles.
The Trandoshan, on the contrary, roars with triumph as his winnings are given to him. That's a lot of Wupiupi... and a lot of Pegats. A lot of Truguts, too. Id Zwibbl, as he's apparently named, looks to be a fairly ferocious sort. There are cut and burn marks on him, and several of his teeth have been knocked out. For a species that heals relatively quickly, this no doubt speaks volumes about his lifestyle. Most of those wounds are probably from just this past week.
Probably nothing Sumi hasn't run across a time or two.
Up on the balcony, Zekulon "Big Zek" Fripp polishes off his glass of rum, and waves down one of the overworked waiting droids to fetch him another. Lighting up a t'bacc stick, he seems to be somewhat bored by the proceedings, until a Pit Droid arrives with his share of the last fight's winnings.
It's good to own the bar, eh?
Practically crab walking away, Ezlo makes the nearest thing to a beeline towards the nearest refresher. Only to find...
"Damn! Are ALL of you in line for the 'fresher?"
"Why am I not surprised? Go and hide if you like, but the next round of those chase? Will be entirely on you. The third time is not the charm." That, was clearly and entirely to Ezlo, as Amal nodded to Sumi, stepping away to make her way up towards the VIP area. There was no attempt to rough up those still milling around the place. Amal simply moved as though she were entirely accustomed to these sorts of waters.
Arriving near the celebrating Trandoshan, Sumi has to look up to catch their gaze. Tall, by nature, the natural hunters pride themselves on being winners and feeding a score to their deity, the scorekeeper. Stepping to Id Zwibbl, she asks. <"I am looking for someone. -- You will help me.">
The visored gaze lifts, gifting the Trandoshan with their reflection. <"Nardo Vig. Where are they?">
Counting up his pile of Hutt Cartel Currency, "Big Zek" seems pleased with his take. There's no telling what percentage he'll have to ultimately kick back to the Cartel for the privilege of running unlicensed gambling, but judging from his pleasant, though admittedly sallow expression, that's the last thing that's on his mind.
But when a vision in white appears, Zek seems to have no room left in his mind whatsoever for anything so trivial as money. In fact, for a second there, it looks as if he's about to drop the 'offering plate' that his winnings came on. Don't get excited, it's just an old hubcap.
For a second, the expression looks almost flirtatious until the blood suddenly runs out of his face. It's the look of recognition that Amal is probably used to getting from those who know her reputation here on The Moon. Noticeably, he's gripping that hubcap so tightly that his knuckles are almost as pale as Amal's outfit.
"Hey... must be my lucky day... ha! That is... whooo! Boy, you know you're taller than your pitchers look.."
Oh great. Big Zek must have taken his lessons in sounding nonchalant from Ezlo.
Over at the pits, the droids are cleaning up the mess. Id Zwibbl is in the process of telling his prize Fighting Massiff just what a good boy he is. Yes he is, yes he is. But he completely fails to play it cool when suddenly asked about a very familiar name.
"Nardo Vig? What kinda name is that? Sounds like a human or something..."
His eyes dart nervously around the area, as if looking at potential escape routes.
"I mean, do I look like the kinda guy who would be... knowing stuff... about human types?"
Over in the line for the fresher, Ezlo moves up one place.
"Holos have a way of spreading you in all of the wrong directions." Amal, who made no move to retrieve the winnings. Master of Finance Borgol might be, but she had never had the insult placed on her to be his bag man. "Nardo Vig. Tell me where to find him, and you'll walk out of here the same way you walked in." See? That wasn't much of a threat. She didn't even imply he couldn't walk out with his winnings. "I will know if you like to me." Because spooky Echani powers. Which no one needed to know she did not actually possess.
<"It would behoove you to dig a little deeper in that thing you call a brain, or I'll remove it and look through its gooey folds myself."> Sumi says as casually as one takes out the trash. The subtle noise of a click--click-- noise resonates from beneath her cape, and it's safe to assume she's got something in there that will aid in her newly spoken threat. <"Nardo Vig.."> She says again, expectation punctuating the pregnant silence that followed..
"Hey... how ya doin' bud? Lissen... you mind if I get ahead of you. I'll be real quick, tiny bladder and all."
The Herglic looks suspiciously at the creepy little blue multi-armed alien, but ultimately lets Ezlo skip ahead of him. Turns out some of the patrons here at this horrible dog fighting ring are actually relatively decent. Or at least somewhat polite.
Joke's on the Herglic though. Ezlo will NOT be quick.
Back up on the balcony, Zekulon Fripp seems to be rethinking some of his choices in life. Clearly, he doesn't want to run afoul of the Hutts, or the Voice of one of their most prominent members. But he seems to be wondering just how they managed to connect him to someone like Nardo Vig. After all, there's a bounty on him.
"Look... I got nothing, absolutely NOTHING but the utmost... the UTMOST respect for Lord Borgol. And in fact... I'm thinking... I ever get married again? Shiz... I'm absolutely going to name my firstborn after him. I swear!"
Still trying to sus out just how deep in drek he is, the Corellian gives up his information without much of a fight.
"It's like this, see... I didn't KNOW that there was a bounty on him. Didn't know that Lord BORGOL wanted him, anyway. You know? How would I know that? I'm just a guy... humble guy... don't want no trouble. But... yeah, I mighta heard a little something about where Nardo Vig's been holed up. But just RUMORS, I swear! I figured... no way he's REALLY in the Undercity these days, right? A fancy banker like him?"
"So that's the only reason I didn't come to you right away. I swear!"
Well that guy's a wimp.
Back down at the Massiff Fighting Pits, Id Zwibbl has a bit more composure. But he also seems to realize that he's sitting on information that's worth more than his life. If they're interrogating him, the jig is likely up. Not that he's clever enough to try stalling, or negotiating.
"Uh... I... okay... so... YES! I know who he is. And... I think... maybe he ain't no human. But close! Real ugly, like a human, anyways..."
"Last I heard, he and his girl broke up, and his wife won't take him back. So he's been crashing with my cousin Roofus."
"I mean... SOMEONE ELSE'S cousin Roofus... out near Ko Hentota somewheres."
"Ko Hentota is a large area. I am afraid you will need to be more specific." Did Amal completely ignore most of what the human was on about in regards Borgol? Probably. It was altogether likely that this was the sort of verbal diarrhea that she had faced for the better part of two decades as his enforcer. "Now, I am going to ask you one last time. And then, I am going to see how well this establishment runs without you."
Sumi tosses a datapad down toward the ground and points with her offhand. <"Write the address and be specific. If I have to find you again, I will reset that score of yours."> Sumi brings her hand back to hook on her belt, hip jutting as she waited for the Trandoshan to comply so she could leave this crap hole.
Though speaking is supposedly his strong suit, Big Zek does an awful lot of stammering as he explains the various ins and outs of the directions to Nardo Vig's Hideout. Though it's clear that he hasn't ever been there himself, he's able to paint a clear enough picture. No wonder hunters have had such a hard time finding the elusive Dirty Banker. From the sound of it, he's been right under everyone's nose. Quite literally. Under their feet too, camped out down somewhere in the sewers that run beneath Nar Shaddaa. Quite a change of scenery for a guy who recently was living in the nicest building in New Vertica with an absolute smokeshow of an Aqualish Mistress.
The neck glands on her... things of beauty.
There is slightly contradictory information from Id Zwibbl. Though writing is clearly NOT his strong suit, he's able to provide something similar to actual directions. Mostly consisting of circling an area on a map, and writing a few lines in very poor Basic. The misspellings might be comical if it didn't point to such a fundamental failure in the public education system on Nar Shaddaa. People like Id Zwibbl have really fallen through the cracks, which is really a shame.
Though the information from either target isn't entirely complete, when put together it gives the Hunters a fairly decent idea of where to look. Someone Else's Cousin Roofus is going to be really surprised, and probably all kinds of miffed at Id Zwibbl.
Finally emerging from the refresher, Ezlo looks much more relieved, and... much more calm?
Sure enough, every single one of the veins in his eyeballs are a very bright red, and he has the telltale aroma of Shroob all over him. No wonder he's so calm.
Rejoining the group as they begin to leave, Ezlo looks like he's finally ready for some action. Lethargic, low-energy action.
"Man... that dook must have been... like... half a meter, man. Maybe a whole meter... I was like... man! But uh... all better now. Feeling... uh... definitely feeling tip-top. So I was thinking... what if we like... split up, man? I'll go interrogate Big Zek, and maybe you two... uh... fearsome ladies... uh... hey... where are you going?"
