- Joined
- Sep 16, 2013
- Messages
- 106
- Reaction score
- 0
Nal Hutta
As Mr. Socket landed his spacecraft on a dock that probably didn't meet most safety regulations, he double-checked his gear. Blaster, credits, a fake ID, jar of dirt...yup, that was everything. He double-checked the ship's console to make sure he could start the engines as quickly as possible, just in case he needed to make a quick takeoff. He got up from the captain's chair and strode over to the exit, grabbing a small pouch of dried nerf strips.
Ah, the smell of exhaust, sweat, and a hastily cleaned up murder, Mr. Socket thought as the door closed behind him. With trash, broken ship parts, and other identifiables strewn around the dock, it was plain to see why the docking fee was so cheap. Luckily, Mr. Socket didn't mind the crap around him, even the sentient crap. Speaking of which...
"Spare a credit, sir? My children are--"
"Shove off," Mr. Socket said, glaring at the thin Twi'lek with his "eyepatch". He smirked in satisfaction as the alien gulped and scurried off into the shadows. He could have easily killed the refuge, but a death on his hands would be messy, especially after landing so soon. Then again, it was Hutta...it was possible no one would have given a crap.
Directly out of the docks exit was an outdoor market. The scent of oil was quickly replaced with the stench of week-old crunchbugs (though the reason Hutt food was being sold in a market was beyond anyone's guess). Vendors were loudly clamoring for business, most of them selling snacks for passengers to eat on their shuttle rides. Mr. Socket stopped at one stall that was selling charms made out of some kind of colorful stone; non-precious, of course.
Mr. Socket pulled a small necklace out of his pocket, nearly identical to the one that the vendor was selling. "Did you make this?" he asked, keeping his voice low. The other man examined the item for a few seconds before scoffing. Luckily, he was human, so there wasn't any trouble in translation. "Please, don't insult me," the merchant said gruffly. "The stone is a poor material, and the string was made by an ameteur. No, if it was made anywhere near here, I'd say...Gilan. Yeah, that has to be it. He's the only one who doesn't leave a craftman's mark. If I were him, I wouldn't either."
"Where do I find him?" Mr. Socket asked.
The vendor smirked. "Now, now. That's not how things work on Hutta. Here, you pay for information."
"I'm more attune to the 'talk or die' policy. The Hutts use that one, right?"
"Hah! You wouldn't dare shoot me, not with all of these people around."
"I don't know. I'm pretty fast, and I don't think these guys will mind if a vending space opened up."
"...there's a large market about a kilometer west of here. He's a blue-skinned Rodian who doesn't speak Basic very well. Can't miss him."
"'Thanks."
"Get the heck away from me."
Mr. Socket smirked and stepped away from stall, his jacket now a bit heavier from the half-dozen bracelets he had just swiped. They probably wouldn't sell for anything, but it was a habit he had no intention of breaking. He looked at "Gilan's" charm again. Time to see if tracking the seller was really worth it.