An Unusual Relationship

[Lighthouse]

Visiting Fondor always felt odd. A bizarre mashing of rolling dunes and sands against skyscrapers and industrial factories. Their industrial progress had been outstanding and the air showed it with smog providing a yellowish hue against the sky. Whenever Petros. visited it he had to bring along eye drops because his tropical homeworld was so much wetter it was comparable to swimming.

The nights on Fondor were more pleasant and much more so in Oridin City. The dense population of Fondor City matched by it's shipyards made the place a maze, and for Elias Kourakos, all the better to wander cloaked in anonymity. This trip was nothing to note. His Rim Dancer stowed among the countless other ships where one either went unnoticed at best or with a bribed guard at worst. There was always a crack to fall through in Fondor City.

Elias found himself here at dusk and not by accident, the nights were a pleasure with cool breezes wafting through the ship frames like colossal skeletons and created a pleasant whistling. The swarthy man strode down a modestly busy street. It wasn't one of the main avenues but with a shift change at the docks there were quite a few souls wandering. The hunter weaved through them clad in worn CZ-34's keeping the helmet on to enjoy the climate control a bit longer.

He stopped outside a laundromat and with a brief scan of the street around him entered. It was a nondescript joint. One of those places that literally says 'credit wash' on the window where people somberly go through their mundane act.

He walked past a few machines and people that looked to be half asleep. The floor riddled with garbage, disposable food bags, cups, even forgotten socks. At the back was a completely normal looking Fondorian human waiting, no hair and a disinterested look but exactly what Elias was looking for.

​

"Does it ever rain here?"
The Fondorian smirked almost imperceptively, and retorted, "Yeah but only at noon."
The two communicated in code discussing a package drop before Elias felt satisfied and left the laundromat and with a few taps on an already dust covered PDA, he completed this delivery ensuring some borderline weapongrade stims and sedatives to give the dock workers that helping hand to work longer and sleep harder. He had a pleasant evening planned with lounging on the Terrace of the Loose Rivet and maybe a hookah if they'd allow him.

@Toska

 

[Toska]

The haze of industry made Fondor a beautiful sight: all golden sunrises and murky, sinful sunsets. Bloody teardrops slid across the horizon, collided with effervescing rings of dust and ice held in permanent suspension in the atmosphere. The occasional speeder cut through the night, eclipsing the view. Obstructed the sky in such a way that empty cloudscapes came as mere projections of a glamorous past. Once upon a time was written in the stars, and Oridin's denizens drank it as the finest of intoxicants.

Constantine clipped down the street. Swathed in cashmere, he removed his cufflinks and placed them in his pockets. He made himself a martyr of silver. Wore it at his breast, at his wrists, at his heels which clicked dissonantly against duracrete overlays. Off came the coat, and he tossed it behind; a bespectacled man caught it, one of the many flanking him.

They formed a ring as they crossed the mainstay. Figures rimmed with trim, buckled down in overalls and acrylic masks. Their faces blended into stoic lines, fizzled out to the cry of discipline. They scarce blinked without the snap of a finger to permit them passage.

The night was far from a restive one, and it hung over them. A shroud that reeked of irony. In a city that never slept, the patter of boots made for quite the spectacle. They sung themselves praises as offworlders, marched to the beat of foreign drums...

and turned about in the face of a simple cleaners.

Constantine smiled, rolled up his sleeves. A pistol swung at his waist, holster a machination of cured leather and dull steel buckles. He tipped a nod to the passerby and said, "Evening, mate, mind sitting tight a spell?"

His fingers snapped. His coat manifested, and he walked in the door. Smoothed it out on the counter. The clerk looked at him. Shook, a pale dread creeping over too-high cheeks.

Constantine lit a cig. Pulled in hard. Smoke curled from his nostrils.

"Fire."

 

[Lighthouse]

Shit.

All at once his world turned on its head. A group of official looking Imperials stuffed him back into the Laundromat and pushed him to the side and unloaded plasma into the room and Elias watched as machines erupted sending clothes spilling across the floor. Bodies dropped whether struck by bolts or avoiding them leaving Elias wondering for a moment exactly why he was left alive by the kill squad. He was so caught in the moment he didn't even think about it.

Then as the plasma eventually stopped the realization dawned on him. They needed a thread to pull on, least that was his guess. The only real prayer the hunter had now was that the clerk he'd made the exchange with was shot in the exchange. If he decided to make the connection that Elias was connected to these trigger fingers it'd make it mighty hard to regain that reputation.

He shifted against the wall keeping his arms crossed to be clear he wasn't going to make a go for his blaster and wished he had put his helmet on. It would've made things easier. For the moment he contented himself to watch how things played and wished for a dust storm or something to hide in outside.

He didn't even know what to say so he waited for the Imperial to make the first move.