Back Alley Murder

[Raider]

One of Nar Shaddaa’s nicknames is Little Coruscant. I suppose whoever gave it that nickname, if the Hutts hadn’t to stroke their own egos, had never stepped on Nar Shaddaa’s surface. Coruscant had had problems with crime in its lower levels. It had always seemed like CSF had been fighting a holding action to keep the disease at bay and prevent it from infecting Coruscant’s upper levels.

No gleaming surface concealed Nar Shaddaa’s ugliness. Nar Shaddaa was a planet infected from top to bottom with crime, pollution, and filth from every corner of the galaxy. Visible for all to see.

Its denizens understood the reality here. Witness a slave exchange? Look the other way. A robbery? Walk a little quicker. A murder? Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend enough and maybe all the problems would just go away. At the very least they might not become your problems.

All the pretending in the universe didn’t change the reality of that dead body in the alley I was walking by. The Twi’lek lay propped against one of the alleys walls. There were two blaster marks in her chest, but I knew those weren't the only injuries. Her head was hanging away from me, revealing purple marks around her neck that stood out against her blue skin.

Strangled.

I took a knee near the body. Detective training was kicking in. The injustice of the act gnawed at me.


Whoever had done this would pay.

 

[Raider]

The absence of any actual police resources was something I found myself was sorely missing. No DNA or fingerprint samples could be taken. Even if they could be there was nowhere to examine them and no database to run a comparison against. Samples would probably be corrupt anyway. My eyes ran up and down the body. There was a lot you could tell about someone from the way they dressed. She was wearing an unzipped brown jacket over a violet bikini top. Violet pants clung tightly to her legs and met the top of a pair of black high heels. A dancer maybe. A lot of Twi’lek females went into that profession willingly or not.

I gently lifted one her hands to check it. It was empty, but the nails were bloodied. A quick check of her other hand showed the same. She had clawed at someone. Her killer most likely. Although that didn't explain the blaster markings on her chest. One was just above her left breast. The other dead center in her chest. They had burned deep into her flesh. Close-range fire. Maybe point-blank depending on the make of the blaster. Had she fought her attacker off and they had pulled a blaster? Speculation and hunches were all I had so far and that wasn't good enough.

I stuck one hand into one of her jacket’s pockets. On another world the sight of a man rummaging through the pockets of a dead woman’s clothing would have drawn looks of disgust and calls to law enforcement. Here on Nar Shaddaa no one even glanced over. No cared. That was problem with this planet. No cared. Except me.

The first pocket was pack of death sticks. The next held her lighter for them. One third had nothing except lint. The last pocket had a holocard.

Sweet Secrets

The words flashed onto the screen and were followed by an address. It was a start. I called my HUD up and took a picture of her face, her marked neck, those bloodied fingernails, and the blaster wounds in her chest. The documentation could come in handy. A picture of her face for ID purposes certainly would at least.

I stood up and regarded the body. After a moment of thought I turned and left the body propped in that back alley. There was nothing I could for her now except find her killer.

I had my first lead and I wasn't going to let the trail go cold.

 

[Raider]

I've never been a big fan of cantinas. They're a beacon for trouble. The number of calls I had to respond to on Coruscant because some idiot started a fight in one were to high to count. The real headache was the paperwork that had to be done afterward. Investigations always wanted the most minute details of parties involved, damages incurred, injuries inflicted. The pile of forms only doubled if a Jedi had been involved. They usually were for some reason. No paperwork was one of the upsides with being a vigilante. No help; but no red tape.

Sweet Secrets glowed above the door to the cantina door in bright yellow lettering that matched the holocard I'd found. It looked rundown from the outside as the front doors slid open before me. I removed my helmet and tucked it under one arm before taking a look around. The inside was shabby. Everything from the booths to walls to bottles looked like something bought from cheapest store or pawn shop. There was platform for dancing girls in one of the corners. On top of it a bored looking Zabrak female was giving an unenthusiastic performance to the few people watching.

The owner had made an attempt at class by having a hostess stand near the entrance. The Togruta woman's lips arranged themselves into a practiced; hollow smile.

"Welcome sir, how can we serve you this morning?"

I didn't answer the question. Instead I withdrew a datapad and held up it to her eye level.

"I found this woman murdered in an alleyway. Do you recognize her?"

Her eyes that had had a dull and distant glaze to them a moment before suddenly lit up as if a tiny Jedi had turned on a lightsabers behind them. I saw the recognition in them before they flickered away from the picture to and up to my face.

I'd come to the right place.

 

[Raider]

"Liasa was murdered?"

All the oxygen seemed to vent from her lungs with the question. She had given me a name though. Half of one, but every piece of information would bring me closer to the killer.

"Yes," I replied. "When did you last see her?"

No hint of emotion leaked into my words. I may well have been asking about the weather, instead of investigating the murder of someone she had known. It was a practiced skill and not one I had enjoyed acquiring. The Togruta hostess' eyes were downcast and she shook her head as if to wipe away the terrible news I had delivered.

"I saw her this morning during the shift changeover. She's one of the overnight dancers."

My hunch on what Liasa's profession had been right. I don't find any satisfaction in that. No little subconscious pat on the back correct guesswork. The killer is still free; alive. Until a blaster bolt burns though their head I won't be satisfied. Probably not even then. I can't undo this murder. Only pay it back in turn. That was fair. Fairer than how most things on Nar Shaddaa went.

"Is your manger in today?" I asked. The hostess gave me a wordlessly nod. Her eyes still locked on the floor as I walked toward the back of the building.

I needed access to this establishment's records. Where Liasa had lived. Who had frequented this place during her shift. How many times in the last week/month/year. I had to keep narrowing down the suspect list. I had gone from anyone on the planet to someone in this club. That was progress of sorts, but not good enough. I door on the back wall has a sign on it with a single emboldened word:

Manager

I don't bother to knock as I hit the pad to open the door and walk into the cramped office.

"Who the kriff are you?" The man behind the desk spits out at the sight of me.

Guess it's going to take more than a please ​to get those records.

 

[Raider]

"Kits Pecar," I replied. False names were something I had by the dozen. Never could be to careful.

I press a button built into my left wrist's gauntlet. If I still had my helmet on instead of carrying it under my arm, I'd have seen the text: Audio Recording On flash onto the HUD. Coruscant Security Academy had drilled into all its cadets the absolute need for recordings of all conversations. A second review could uncovered something that had been missed.

The manager is a Bothan. He's staring at me with narrowed eyes. Teeth bared as if he's fighting the urge to leap over his desk and take a bit out of my face.

"One of your dancing girls, Liasa, was murdered after her shift this morning."

The aggression drained off the Bothan's face. His snout nostrils flare and his eyes go wide. I not familiar with Bothan facial expressions, but I would guess this is what surprise looks like.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I found her body in an alleyway. Your hostess confirmed her identify. This is her isn't it?"

I held up the datapad with Liasa's expressionless face captured on it. The seconds ticked by as the Bothan stared at it. When tore his vision away from it he stared at me. His expression unreadable.

"Why down you care?"

"Murder isn't something that should go unpunished," I said.

"Who's paying you?"

"No one."

The Bothan said a single word in his native tongue. I didn't know the word, but I'd have put money down on it being something you didn't say in front of younglings. It was clear he didn't believe me and that was another problem with Nar Shaddaa. Everyone thought everyone else has trying to pull one over them. In fairness, they were usually right on that score. I, however, needed his help. If he wanted to play hardball. I'd play bad cop.

I was good at bad cop.

 

[Asinine Soup]

The was seldom shortage of drink and entertainment on Nar Shaddaa - the Vertical City for some and Little Coruscant for others - be it in the form of dancers within clubs or the usage of Spice to wear the pain of an indifferent Galaxy's turmoils. What she considered to be a "better" side of town, a red-headed patron within a local Cantina that smelled of Death Sticks and stale gasses used as alcohol for races of creatures she'd never witnessed partake, though Cantinas seldom ran short of their supply, leans back within a barstool within little being given away, given her expression.

Lillieth rims the Correllian Brandy - close to the only drink she allowed to taint her lips - about in a circle within its glass before taking another gulp, satisfied once more by the taste. The Bartender seemed to occasionally request attention from the stunningly beautiful girl, though she didn't seem too attached to the prospect; the vibe within the lounge, however, dipped from casual and forgetful to something that a young Force Sensitive had come across a plethora of times within her travels: despair and sadness.
A petite jaw aligns as amber apertures find their journey to the culprit successful, the hostess finding her hand to her mouth, agape in disbelief in conversation with a tall, fit man.
"I like his eyes," she thinks absent-mindedly, taking a sip of the brandy as her senses attune toward the conversation at hand.

So a murder. One of the dancers, no less - an occurrence as such happened often here in the darkness-clad world of Nar Shaddaa, neon lights and flashing signs and blaster fire being the only solace from the darkness of the Smuggler's Moon. Before long, however, it seemed their conversation was over, and although she could get an easy reading of the saddened worker's emotions, the statute sentinel-like investigator didn't seem perturbed in the slightest.
He walks forth with confidence in his step, so she would consider it, and with him left the air of determination. Slowly, the music rings back forefront, and were it a bit more soothing or artful, Lady Sunsinger may have decided against involving herself in what could be considered Emperial business. In a way. But not really, right; the only business she had on this world was the business she made her own, and with downtime after sniffing out an eon-old cult?

A final gulp of liquor sends the glass to the bar top along with a small credit chip, the woman's posture standing tall as she wore nothing that may label her as 'Sith' - her exacting title. Ebony robing, simple and purposeful, cloaked the telltale weaponry upon her hip clipped to her belt, and as she walked with a sway in her stride and a bend in her hips, she trails the man toward the manager's office.

Assorted aggressive words are heard, but murmured through the walls. Monotonous, matter-of-factly verbiage is given in return from the detective, and as she gathers closer, she hears a gruff, "Murder isn't something that should go unpunished," which could be considered a fairly arguable point, given her position. She neglects arguing as she nears the doorway, though; hand slides along the doorframe and as she steps into the office, a Bothan's beady eyes falls upon her. She regarded the attention as keenly as she had the bartender's, and with a brief clearing of her throat, she lifts a chin and beams a smile easily trialed by the beautiful Golden Beaches of Corellia.

"One would think that a little more concern would be given - or at least an attempt at a show of contrite - for a loss of one of their employees," is said as though it were a song, or an aside within a poetic play.
"You wear your emotions on your face, dear. How about not making this more difficult than need-be?"

A bend in posture sends an impressionable wave of metaphysical energy - the Force - toward the manager of the establishment, making her request exponentially more reasonable and course-correcting his briefly guilty demeanor to slightly more corrigible behavior.
The red-head bends a hip and crosses her arms, peering up to this one - Marcus Haran - out of the corner of her eye with a knowing grin plastered unto her visage, hoping he didn't mind her company.

 

[Raider]

"One would think that a little more concern would be given - or at least an attempt at a show of contrite - for a loss of one of their employees,"

"You wear your emotions on your face, dear. How about not making this more difficult than need-be?"

The words floated into my ears and I catch sight of their source with a turn of my head. A girl is framed in the doorway. She is beautiful, elegant, and so very young. The simple robe hanging around her form seemed to fit her naturally; perfectly. I knew the moment my eyes fell on her that she was no dancing girl. She is standing there with far more sophistication than anyone who worked a degrading cantina job could ever muster. There was an air about her of someone important; famous. She held herself like a holovid actress would, radiantly with confidence, ready for the world to admire her.

A grin blossomed across her face. She looked as if she had all the answers of the universe held within her. Whether she did or not, the simile further enhanced her beauty. I realized after few seconds of silence that the Bothan had stopped yelling, had stopped talking in fact. I turned my eyes back toward the previously uncooperative being. The Bothan was staring at the girl, transfixed, as if an angel had walked into his third-rate business and graced him with her presence and words. I caught the glint of curiosity from her amber eyes as they regarded me from at the edge of her vision. She had shifted into a different pose, as though a thousand invisible holocams followed her, and she wanted to ensure only the best angles were being captured.

I felt tap on my shoulder. The Bothan is standing next to me. I hadn't noticed him approach. When had he moved from behind his desk? I had sunk to deep into this red haired beauties honey colored eyes. One of his paws was raised, a datachip resting in his outstretched palm. I glanced down at it and back at him. The Bothan's eyes, filled with suspicion and hostility not a moment ago, now appeared glazed over. As if a fog had descended behind retinas. My fingers lifted the datachip from his hand and his arm returned to his side. He stood there next to me like a drunk who wasn't sure where to go.

An old holovid where a woman's beauty tamed a beast floated up from my memories. This girl had done something to the Bothan. Something I hadn't seen. A few flowery sentences didn't just cause others to fall into stupor like this. I had seen a lot of unusual things on Nar Shaddaa, but nothing like this. My gut flipped over uneasily. I pushed the feeling down. Whatever she had done. It had been helpful. Why though? Everyone had their price on Nar Shaddaa. What was her's?

I turned to her. My head motioning toward the door. I didn't want to talk in this cantina. I had a feeling she would understand. Somehow.

 

[Asinine Soup]

With a pair of floating, stalking irises that return to a certain Bothan encaptured within or beneath a spell of sorts dilate and widen slightly. A shift in the atmosphere is felt, in short, and as a datachip is passed on, the young Sunsinger could only lift a thin eyebrow.
"Hm," escapes her semi-pursed lips, a hum resonating about the room as a smile is offered to the manager of the establishment...color beginning to return to his complexion and eyes gathering its focus as the pair seemed intent on departing.
"Thanks, hun'." she calls in a tone that couldn't be differentiated between condescending and thankful, conflicting persona attributing to her elusive nature.

The man-on-a-mission seemed to grant a brief moment of attention, and as his head cants in the direction of the exit, she blinks her retort and gives a last, paying glimpse and wave to the "cooperative" individual now behind them.
The clattering, powerful boot-steps of Marcus' armor overwhelm the gentle footfalls of Lillieth's contrasting trail, and were the two able to make it to the exit undisturbed, she would lead to a lesser populated street corner only but a few meters away from the entrance of the neon-lit Sweet Secrets.

Oh, the irony of the name and their current predicament was not lost to her.
"Lillieth Starsinger," she starts, pivoting and leaning upon a wall casually; her foot rises and bends at the knee within her posture, and as only a pregnant pause establishes itself between her words and her action, it becomes apparent - perhaps - that she cared more about her introduction than if the gesture would be returned. "Who I am is of little importance given the current situation, however...and I'd rather our--" she pauses, naturally amber eyes flittering down to the datachip tossed in the brief fray within the back rooms of the Cantina across the street, slight Emperical accent emitting a final, correcting "--...your trail not fall cold."

The distant resonating sounds of nightclubs playing their typical swing and pitches, the occasional residual laughter and general whitenoise of Nar Shaddaa reverberate down the clearing street. The ambiance was unprecedentedly calming to the girl as she seemed open to instruction regarding his case, having put herself in the role of an aid to the murder investigation.
Maybe.

She awaits the depth of the man's tone, actually having found it rather soothing as she heard it within her approach within the hall; if her synopsis of this one's persona was correct...he was one to take the lead of a situation, though not spearheaded. He was intellectual within his approach, and with his deep, piercing eyes capturing her own, she couldn't help but assume she was spot-on accurate.
She grins in anticipation, unable to contain her excitement, releasing the anxiety with a tapping of her foot upon the wall.

 

[Raider]

"Lillieth Starsinger," she said.

Even her name sounded like a screen name for a holovid actress. Everything about her was so deliberate; choreographed. Her name, her movements, her posture. It was like he had entered into a noir vid and here was the mysterious woman entering into the scene to provide help.

"Who I am is of little importance given the current situation, however...and I'd rather our--"

I notice her eyes move to the hand I have the datachip in and I know it's a look I know I'm suppose to see.

"...your trail not fall cold."

The way she had paused at the word our before correcting herself told me she had more than a passing interest in what data was contained on this little chip. Could there be something more on this datachip than I suspected than the information of employees and their clients? Was she searching for someone too and our paths had crossed by chance?

My detective instincts are screaming at me that something was dangerous about this girl. My mind sorted though an array of possibilities. A honey trap sent by the Hutts to sniff out his safe house? An assassin ready to draw a concealed weapon once his guard was down and his back turned? The killer I was tracking? Here to knock off the one person on her trail?

I consider and discard each one. I don't have enough to go on except what I've seen, but what I've seen has my feet planted firmly on the ground. My body swaying on its own ever so slightly to one side and another, like a boxer getting ready to dodge the blow to come. My arms are loosely crossed against my chest. Thick and powerful biceps apparent against my armor.

She had manipulated the Bothan. She was far to at ease for a beautiful girl out on Nar Shaddaa's streets. The Twi'lek girl I had found murdered was testament to the level of safety on Nar Shaddaa. Yet here she was, leaning against this wall as calm as if she was on Corellia's Gold Beach. My eyes are moving from her flirtatious amber orbs and across her gorgeous face and back. My gaze scrutinizing every millimeter, trying to find a crack the facade I was sure she had clocked herself in.

Maybe I'm being to paranoid. Perhaps I'm searching for something that wasn't there.

"Marcus Haran," I said. The words flowing out in a low baritone.

"Thanks for your help in there. Did you know Liasa?"

 

[Asinine Soup]

Liasa. Pretty name. Lillieth figured that didn't matter too much anymore, however, and the expression that plasters her brow seemed to display her malcontent in the fact of the matter: she did not know the supposed victim. She responds in part to the depth of a certain detective's voice, however, with a smile and retort.
"If I did know her, I dare say she would still be alive, Detective Haran," she murmurs, dismissing the thanks. She found the sentiment to hold value, though she still hadn't disclosed too much information about herself. A gentle sway within Marcus' posture could be an indication of several things, though the Force whispered and revealed a subtle hint; "You wear your uncertainty like a cologne, sweetheart."

Her phrase is said through a gentle sigh, uncertainty telltale signs of mistrust. She hadn't given him a reason to trust, after all, and she could be anyone. While the red-headed young woman withheld nothing more than her own curiosity regarding this case-in-progress, she quickly realized the two were simply allowing the trail to trickle down the drain.
"I knew of her," she states a tad more sternly, eyes finding their mark to Marcus above once more, "as do many others. She doesn't run with a very popular crowd - didn't, rather - and in my brief stay here on this moon, I've heard of her once and have seen her twice."
Lillieth haphazardly lifts her sash to reveal a Lightsaber upon her belt, glinting in the light. No words to describe her background may have been necessary from then on, she figures, for as the sash drops back to cloak the weapon, she knew full well that the item itself held answers to many unasked queries. She would spare the man the inquisition; she did work for the Emperium, and that's all that truly matters. Right?

"She was a dancer, yes, but she had side-jobs, too. I saw her with some druggie cultists not too far from here in a popular night club. The name escapes me. Given her manager's reluctance..."
A gentle shrug befits her lean, spare fingertips sliding along her temple, tucking freeflowing strands of crimson behind her ear.
"...I'd say the insect of whatever web she was tangled in finally felt her squirming."

One more glimpse is given to the datachip. There was no doubt some kind of clue would be upon it, but she wouldn't be the judge. Whatever mess she found herself in before her death couldn't have been a pretty one, surely...being mixed in with those Hutts and Cultists could label her having been a target for quite a while. But then again...perhaps she was over-thinking.
A thin eyebrow lifts upon Lillieth's brow in wait.

 

[Raider]

I had hoped to coax some answers out of Lillieth with my question. It proved to be a success I wish I hadn't achieved as the cylinder tube attached to her belt flashed into view. A lightsaber. I knew the weapon, had seen it from time to time when Jedi would get involved in Coruscant Security's cases. A lot of pieces clicked into place now and I didn't like the picture I was suddenly looking at. What she had done to the Bothan manager had been a Jedi trick. You could fake a lightsaber, but not that mystical power Jedi had.

Except this girl was no Jedi. The Jedi were gone. Dead. There's only one other possibility and the realization sends a chill up my spine. The chill plunges my mind into an ice bucket and up comes floating a memory a decade old. Coruscant. Lifeless. Destroyed. A trillion souls wiped from existence in a sudden green flash. I can barely hear Lillieth's voice over the roar of the destruction of my home world replaying itself in my mind. As fast as the fear hits me it evaporates and reforms into anger. That ice bucket transforming into a sun that's threatening go critical, but as it boils to the point of supernova my hearing decides to resume transmitting.

-some druggie cultists not too far from here in a popular night club. The name escapes me. Given her manager's reluctance..."
A gentle shrug befits her lean, spare fingertips sliding along her temple, tucking freeflowing strands of crimson behind her ear.
"...I'd say the insect of whatever web she was tangled in finally felt her squirming."

The sun burns out as police discipline kicks in to exhaust every glowing ember. Anger got in the way of the job and I can't afford to be sloppy. Mistakes get costly fast on Nar Shaddaa. This girl couldn't have been old enough to hold a lightsaber when Coruscant fell. I notice only now the tight feeling in my facial muscles. I'd been frowning at her; glaring with narrowed eyes. Jaw clenched. I force every part of me slowly begins to relax. My arms unfold and lower to rest at my sides.

I start to consider which lead to follow first. The cultists at the night club she had mentioned? No, to many probable suspects. The datachip might just narrow the list of who would want Liasa dead and why. Murderers were used to getting away with their crimes here on Nar Shaddaa. They weren't try to skip off world unless they thought they had killed someone important. A Twi'lek dancing girl hardly qualified.

Lillieth's looking at me. A brow lifted in what I read as curiosity. She couldn't have missed my outward shift in emotions. Had she used her 'Force' to read my memories? Saw what I remembered? She was young, but these types were dangerous at any age. I had to keep an eye on her. My month twitched upward in a slight smile at the ridiculous thought. I might as well be a Mynock guarding a Bantha herd from a Krayt Dragon.

"We all get tangled in webs from time to time." I reply. Am I tangled in yours?

"If one or more of these cultists had anything to do with this murder they won't be the types to go to ground because of it."

I hold the datachip up between my thumb and forefinger.

"It might have been a random killing, a crime of passion, or something else. I think this will tell me - us more."

With a wave of my hand I gesture her to follow me as I turn and begin walking away. I had a place where I could run the data securely away from prying eyes. I did have one more question and despite myself had to ask. The Detective's cruse my old captain had called it. I couldn't find bliss in ignorance.

"Why are you helping me?"

 

[Asinine Soup]

Passions broil near the surface of the man as his deep eyes flicker to the weapon upon Lillieth's hip, however briefly displayed. The raw emotion that accompanied the glance felt suppressed, at best, though with little more than a nod, she regards the prelude to his reasoning soundlessly. She keeps the wave of nostalgia-driven anger and angst within the forefront as that seemed to be a common trend for those of whom she met - typically the tensing of muscles before lashing out, those poor deceased individuals whom let their hatred for what others would deem 'her kind' allow them to be controlled by passion to attempt to bring harm to the girl.
Her body language seemed relaxed about the man, though, older than she and wiser, his experience riddled upon his brow and soaked within his calculating gaze.

"Hm," an inquisitive hum escapes the throat once more.
"It might have been a random killing, a crime of passion, or something else. I think this will tell me - us more."
"Us," she smirks, quickly devolving her halfway smile back into a visage of business-like professionalism, "Then we should get moving, then." Try as she may, it was fairly difficult to make seriousness out of the situation.

And then the question of the age is spoken toward her as Lillieth finds herself trailing in the heavy footsteps of her new, perhaps temporary partner.
"A long-dead, drunk of a Bith once told me 'we have to be the change we want to see in the Galaxy'," she starts, words dancing about her tongue, each phrase producing a vibe that one would often find themselves guessing if what she said had a deeper meaning. There was no entendre, however, as she finishes her expression, sideways-glancing up to the tall, capable detective.
"Though where nothing is ventured, nothing is gained." A pause. A smirk. "I guess that doesn't answer your question." The jovial grin could be heard in her voice as they trailed past open-door Cantina and apartment complexes and condos, some abandoned, some flourishing.
"So maybe we should just wait and see 'why'. I'm sure we'll both find out soon enough."

She could hear Jorath now. "You sound like a blasted Jedi," he'd hiss, and she could only shrug a shoulder at the thought. If that concept is what made her Jedi...

"You don't trust Sith?" she inquires cooly to her partner, then, a question that held the tone of a statement.

 

[Raider]

She was playing keep away with me. Whatever her reasons I knew I wasn't going to like them. I could have avoided all this trouble, just kept walking past that body, and I wouldn't have a Sith at my shoulder. A bunch of cultists to go say hello to. A datachip with who knows what on it. There had been nothing special about Liasa, she had just been another Twi'lek dancing girl. I hadn't met her or known her. Why am I even doing this?

"Why am I doing this?" I asked. My eyes weren't on Lillieth, but I was listening, waiting to see what assessment she had drawn about me. That banked on her actually giving a straight answer, but even a lie could provide a clue. I hadn't answer her question. She hadn't answered mine. I found that fair. You get what you give after all.

I'd been watching for the correct entry point. It was hard to spot. The building we were walking by was the right one. A mismatch of gang symbols, different species, and abstract imagery had been sprayed over much of the building's side. I came to a stop in front of a image of a small moon and press it. The button depressed and a door, it's outline hidden by the art slide open. I walked in.

 

[Asinine Soup]

Lillieth's two-timed stride seemed to keep up with the hulking footwork of her assumed - perhaps only temporary - partner in crime-correction. Her query falls victim to one just like it, to which the red-head Sith gives a little more thought before answering; while she often listening to respond, she felt the moment was opportune to listen to understand, if only this once.
"Why am I doing this?" says he.
"Maybe you, that Bith, and I all have similar motif?...What's the possibility we're not all rotten and selfish at-heart?" she asks as her retort, not wanting to break the trend of question for question. She knew she had nothing to gain in following this...man she knew so little about. Is it boredom that drives her? Is it the will to help mold a Galaxy to be a more acceptable one, in her eyes?...Is she really seeing things like a blasted Jedi?

Like mother?

All thoughts resonate her conscience before finding themselves buried beneath current inquisition, a curious route picked as a certain, armored detective opens a passage she'd lacked the insight to pique.
He steps in, and Lillieth was short to follow.

A pair of light-footed individuals were following as well. Had Lillieth sensed their approach? Were they in cahoots with the would-be Sith? One's gloved fingertips tighten along the trigger of his blaster, a common piece found on the streets of Nar Shaddaa. His Weequay pair of eyes study the entrance from around the alleyway before sliding to his Twi'Lek partner's, giving a sly nod as a red head of hair enters the darkness of the hidden locale.
When they felt they were in the clear, two armed and lightly armored humanoids step into the hall, puddle cascading beneath their boots in their wake...in their pursuit...

...whatever that may be.