- Joined
- Sep 7, 2014
- Messages
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Hunter: Oak
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GARALA TATHAM
ALIVE
6,000 cr
Attractive, seductive, and missing. Garala Tatham is the prized slave to one of the prominent business owners on Nar Shadaa. His desire to have her returned has promoted his reported bounty. The woman was believed to be seen in the Corellian district, meet with her owner and investigate the leads provided. Her life and safety are required. Don't bring back a battered, bruised and half alive woman.ALIVE
6,000 cr
Hunter: Oak
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Nar Shadaa was, by and large, an acquired taste.
Which was to say anyone with the credits, desire, and an eschewed sense of morality could acquire just about anything on Nar Shadaa. Weapons, drugs, flesh, and life were all on the table for somebody who had the credits to spare but if you had to ask the price of someone's trust then you probably couldn't foot the bill. In his time with the Blue House, Nar Shadaa had been a frequently visited destination for Oak - meeting up with clients, chasing after targets, or some mix of the two. He'd come to like it if only because life on Nar Shadaa was more interesting than other places.
More colorful too. If you fancied the colors of spice and blood.
But Oak wasn't here for the finer points of life on the Hutt world, though his reason was one signature aspect of it. He was on Nar Shadaa for business as he had always been in the past. A simple contract at face-value coupled with a need for credits in his pockets meant that he had more than happily taken it. A slave girl gone missing and was apparently some slug's prized possession. And Oak cared far more about the credits putting food on his table than he did about the finer points of discussion with the slave trade and the philosophy debating sentient independence and freedom.
The authorities at the space-port had been little to no trouble. He had nothing to declare that would get him in trouble or step on the toes of Cartel-backed smugglers and dealers and the inspections officer questioning him had needed only a quick peak into the duffel bag Oak now had on his shoulder to be satisfied that there was nothing suspicious about the weaponry and armor he had tucked away inside. He'd made some passing comment to a partner of his that he didn't care for Oak's silence and terseness, but on the other end Oak didn't much care for him - at all. So it worked out well for both of them.
The bounty posted had stated to meet with the slave girl's owner to get more information about her. Presumably some closely guarded and vital detail or another that not knowing would make it difficult for an independent hunter (or a rival wanting her for themselves) from just going off to find her without her original owner knowing about it. He'd been generous enough to provide the location of his estate and when Oak had put in for his interest in the contract he'd been extended an appropriately officious and formal invitation to come discuss the matter of his escaped slave-girl.
Streets leading there were typically crowded and alive even though it was closing in on 2200, with the usual lot filling the streets. Vendors of questionably clean business practices were peddling their goods, street urchins darted about and slipped tiny hands into pockets of the unobservant, and on the sidewalk but always close enough to an alley to dart to safety were dealers of things that even on Nar Shadaa could get the sort of attention nobody wanted.
Por'thullo's estate was easy enough to find once on the same block. While it was surely rather small by Hutt standards, most others would have been quite happy with such a place to call their own. Easily taking up a third of the block, walled around the entirety of it with visibly guards on those very walls, backed by funding from local race tracks and the ever popular narcotics trade, and if rumors were to be believed there was a network of escape tunnels to the nearest space-port and enough room to comfortably house a few companies of mercenaries inside. The main gate sat open at present, though Oak counted no less than three rifles "resting" in his direction as he'd stepped through.
It wasn't until he approached the door and presented his invitation to the duo at the estate's front door that the number of rifles on him dropped to a simple one: a Rodian . . . man? Oak looked over the guard stepping forward and took in the details. The just-too-big jacket. The small feet compared to the other Rodian next to them. And was that stubble growing in? A female, trying to hide her gender. Maybe to seem more intimidating. She held out one hand expectantly with a nod of her head to his duffel bag.
"You can get it back when you leave." She warbled in the typical Rodian way.
Oak locked eyes with her, "No"
"Nobody sees Por with their guns."
A beat. Oak considered his options. Considered how many blasters and slug-throwers could get pointed his way. Considered the payment for the job. Maybe stubborn paranoia wouldn't pay the best right now. He didn't take long to make the decision in the end. He unslung the duffel bag from his shoulder and let it drop to the ground with a heavy thud. Then he drew his "Hiraku" from its drop-holster on his leg and set that down on top of the bag. With everything visibly removed he was given a cursory pat-down to make sure he'd passed over everything - he had - and finally he was deemed clear to enter with the doors swinging open.
Inside the foyer was dark and smelled faintly of hookah smoke. And while he might have normally felt like he was harder to see, he had heard enough stories of Hutts lighting their homes with ultraviolet lights to give intruders a false sense of stealth while Hutts and other species such as the Rodians at the door could see into the ultraviolet spectrum with little issue. Oak wouldn't have been surprised if he got his mask from his bag and turned on night-vision if the whole place lit up like the noon sun. But it was still lit at least enough from smaller lamps along the walls that he could take in his surroundings, such as the marble floor under his boots, the trio of stairwells leading to a second-story balcony, and as he looked up his suspicions were confirmed by a chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling - either off or emitting ultraviolet light.
"Good evening!" A quiet but cheerful voice drew his attention, "It is with a great pleasure that I welcome you," A young Twi'lek, skin as blue as the ocean even under such low light, was on the second story balcony and making her way down the center-most of the three stairs. "to the estate of his grace, Tramani Por'thullo Chamrani of House Trebel." As she drew closer it was easier to make out her apparel - which was to say that she had virtually none.
Her lekku were jeweled and adorned, of course. And she wore a skirt, or rather two bits of cloth held together with gold chain. And a very elaborate series of straps and buckles that concealed nothing of her above the waist and likely spoke a great deal about her Hutt master. Certainly eye-catching. She drew closer and placed a hand lightly on his arm.
"If you'd follow me?"
Up the stairs and towards yet another set of double-doors, slightly ajar, and another young slave girl - this one human - in a darker corner watching him. Oak wouldn't have been surprised if the slaves were as much Por'thullo's eye-candy as they were his eyes and ears around the estate. The stench of wafting hookah smoke grew stronger and seemed to be coming from behind the doors as the Twilek girl slipped between the gap and pushed open one door just wide enough to allow Oak space to step through without side-stepping too much. He followed behind her and immediately took in the surroundings of the chamber they were in now. The few guards at the outside of the circular chamber, the lighting in the center framing the head of the estate, and the Hutt himself.
Por'thullo - old enough to start getting some green on his back and some fat over his eyes. Not so old and storied as to have much of a distinct name among the Hutts. He'd come across his originally small fortune in that it was passed on by his predecessor when the elder had died and he'd worked to expand it. It hadn't always led to him making friends and it was easy to tell by the milky and unfocused left eye with a visible scar that had likely served as a great source of pain when he'd acquired it. But Oak hadn't had too much time to dig extensively on the past of his potential client and didn't have an interest to pore over his sluggish physique - though at a glimpse of the young women around his stand in the center of the room he had a shuddering thought.
Thinking of what it must have been like in the slave market before the Hutts had discovered space travel.
The idea of a slug in lace made Oak consider giving up food for a few weeks.
As Oak approached, Por'thullo wasted no time in chortling out to him in Huttese. Even if he hadn't had some passive near-conversational understanding of it, the bounty hunter didn't need to worry because the Twi'lek girl hugged close to him from the side - close enough to be obvious about what she was trying to do, and worked to translate for him.
"His Grace would like to welcome you, Oak of the Weequay," she began. "and wishes to let you know he is pleased that you responded so promptly to his bounty. Garala was one of his most beloved possessions," Oak was fairly sure that the Hutt didn't carry the same venom in the way he'd just said it. "and since she so foolishly ran off he's been distraught. He wishes for her safe return before she finds herself in danger or in the clutches of a less kind master."
The Hutt cast his eye on one of the nearer slave girls and rasped an order at her. She reached just behind the pedestal to where Oak couldn't see and retrieved what looked like a datapad. Some tapping and his own datapad pinged him that he'd received a message. He wasn't so rude as to draw his attention away to look at it just yet.
Por'thullo continued, his Twi'lek eye-candy translating diligently, "His Grace has agents in many places and has heard rumor that she has recently been to the Corellian Sector. Perhaps trying to find credits or a way off-world. But she is foolish to think that a smart smuggler would help her. His Grace has always been proud of his prized jewel and many would know to leave her alone."
A moment of silence gave Oak the impression that it was a cue to look at the message. He pulled up his datapad and was soon greeted with a small collection of pictures. And a very specifically detailed account of her medical history and physiology. Just looking at this made Oak remember how grateful he was that he'd never extended his contract with the Blue House and chose to be an independently operating bounty hunter instead.
"She is to be brought back home to us alive and well. Her safe return will see you rewarded with 6,000 credits. And perhaps receiving His Grace's gratitude. He does not want to see her come to harm, or to be mishandled."
Oak glanced to the slave at his side and then to Por'thullo himself, "I'll do it."
An appropriately ostentatious and wordy farewell was offered and with a Twi'lek's chest still pressing into his back, Oak was turned by insistent hands to the door once more. This time as he stepped out the door was pulled shut in an obvious sign to those who might be observing that business was done for now. But before Oak could walk away the Twi'lek immediately brought him to a halt with a harsh squeeze of his shoulders before rising to her toes to whisper in his ear. If only because he was being pulled to lean down and listen, she had his interest. Also his rapidly spiking irritation, but his interest as well.
"A warning, hunter," her voice was just as soft and airy as all the other times she'd spoken - but a hundred times more venomous. "the tramp is no simple prey. She is no master of a blade, but you are not the first to be sent for her. His Grace suspects the last may have been - convinced - to leave her." A moment of silence, "His will be the next head Por'thullo pays for. Do not make his mistake."
And with that, Oak was free to leave. He gathered his bag and made way to return to his ship. First he had some planning to do. Then he'd suit up and see what he could find out about the going-ons in the Corellian sector.
Which was to say anyone with the credits, desire, and an eschewed sense of morality could acquire just about anything on Nar Shadaa. Weapons, drugs, flesh, and life were all on the table for somebody who had the credits to spare but if you had to ask the price of someone's trust then you probably couldn't foot the bill. In his time with the Blue House, Nar Shadaa had been a frequently visited destination for Oak - meeting up with clients, chasing after targets, or some mix of the two. He'd come to like it if only because life on Nar Shadaa was more interesting than other places.
More colorful too. If you fancied the colors of spice and blood.
But Oak wasn't here for the finer points of life on the Hutt world, though his reason was one signature aspect of it. He was on Nar Shadaa for business as he had always been in the past. A simple contract at face-value coupled with a need for credits in his pockets meant that he had more than happily taken it. A slave girl gone missing and was apparently some slug's prized possession. And Oak cared far more about the credits putting food on his table than he did about the finer points of discussion with the slave trade and the philosophy debating sentient independence and freedom.
The authorities at the space-port had been little to no trouble. He had nothing to declare that would get him in trouble or step on the toes of Cartel-backed smugglers and dealers and the inspections officer questioning him had needed only a quick peak into the duffel bag Oak now had on his shoulder to be satisfied that there was nothing suspicious about the weaponry and armor he had tucked away inside. He'd made some passing comment to a partner of his that he didn't care for Oak's silence and terseness, but on the other end Oak didn't much care for him - at all. So it worked out well for both of them.
The bounty posted had stated to meet with the slave girl's owner to get more information about her. Presumably some closely guarded and vital detail or another that not knowing would make it difficult for an independent hunter (or a rival wanting her for themselves) from just going off to find her without her original owner knowing about it. He'd been generous enough to provide the location of his estate and when Oak had put in for his interest in the contract he'd been extended an appropriately officious and formal invitation to come discuss the matter of his escaped slave-girl.
Streets leading there were typically crowded and alive even though it was closing in on 2200, with the usual lot filling the streets. Vendors of questionably clean business practices were peddling their goods, street urchins darted about and slipped tiny hands into pockets of the unobservant, and on the sidewalk but always close enough to an alley to dart to safety were dealers of things that even on Nar Shadaa could get the sort of attention nobody wanted.
Por'thullo's estate was easy enough to find once on the same block. While it was surely rather small by Hutt standards, most others would have been quite happy with such a place to call their own. Easily taking up a third of the block, walled around the entirety of it with visibly guards on those very walls, backed by funding from local race tracks and the ever popular narcotics trade, and if rumors were to be believed there was a network of escape tunnels to the nearest space-port and enough room to comfortably house a few companies of mercenaries inside. The main gate sat open at present, though Oak counted no less than three rifles "resting" in his direction as he'd stepped through.
It wasn't until he approached the door and presented his invitation to the duo at the estate's front door that the number of rifles on him dropped to a simple one: a Rodian . . . man? Oak looked over the guard stepping forward and took in the details. The just-too-big jacket. The small feet compared to the other Rodian next to them. And was that stubble growing in? A female, trying to hide her gender. Maybe to seem more intimidating. She held out one hand expectantly with a nod of her head to his duffel bag.
"You can get it back when you leave." She warbled in the typical Rodian way.
Oak locked eyes with her, "No"
"Nobody sees Por with their guns."
A beat. Oak considered his options. Considered how many blasters and slug-throwers could get pointed his way. Considered the payment for the job. Maybe stubborn paranoia wouldn't pay the best right now. He didn't take long to make the decision in the end. He unslung the duffel bag from his shoulder and let it drop to the ground with a heavy thud. Then he drew his "Hiraku" from its drop-holster on his leg and set that down on top of the bag. With everything visibly removed he was given a cursory pat-down to make sure he'd passed over everything - he had - and finally he was deemed clear to enter with the doors swinging open.
Inside the foyer was dark and smelled faintly of hookah smoke. And while he might have normally felt like he was harder to see, he had heard enough stories of Hutts lighting their homes with ultraviolet lights to give intruders a false sense of stealth while Hutts and other species such as the Rodians at the door could see into the ultraviolet spectrum with little issue. Oak wouldn't have been surprised if he got his mask from his bag and turned on night-vision if the whole place lit up like the noon sun. But it was still lit at least enough from smaller lamps along the walls that he could take in his surroundings, such as the marble floor under his boots, the trio of stairwells leading to a second-story balcony, and as he looked up his suspicions were confirmed by a chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling - either off or emitting ultraviolet light.
"Good evening!" A quiet but cheerful voice drew his attention, "It is with a great pleasure that I welcome you," A young Twi'lek, skin as blue as the ocean even under such low light, was on the second story balcony and making her way down the center-most of the three stairs. "to the estate of his grace, Tramani Por'thullo Chamrani of House Trebel." As she drew closer it was easier to make out her apparel - which was to say that she had virtually none.
Her lekku were jeweled and adorned, of course. And she wore a skirt, or rather two bits of cloth held together with gold chain. And a very elaborate series of straps and buckles that concealed nothing of her above the waist and likely spoke a great deal about her Hutt master. Certainly eye-catching. She drew closer and placed a hand lightly on his arm.
"If you'd follow me?"
Up the stairs and towards yet another set of double-doors, slightly ajar, and another young slave girl - this one human - in a darker corner watching him. Oak wouldn't have been surprised if the slaves were as much Por'thullo's eye-candy as they were his eyes and ears around the estate. The stench of wafting hookah smoke grew stronger and seemed to be coming from behind the doors as the Twilek girl slipped between the gap and pushed open one door just wide enough to allow Oak space to step through without side-stepping too much. He followed behind her and immediately took in the surroundings of the chamber they were in now. The few guards at the outside of the circular chamber, the lighting in the center framing the head of the estate, and the Hutt himself.
Por'thullo - old enough to start getting some green on his back and some fat over his eyes. Not so old and storied as to have much of a distinct name among the Hutts. He'd come across his originally small fortune in that it was passed on by his predecessor when the elder had died and he'd worked to expand it. It hadn't always led to him making friends and it was easy to tell by the milky and unfocused left eye with a visible scar that had likely served as a great source of pain when he'd acquired it. But Oak hadn't had too much time to dig extensively on the past of his potential client and didn't have an interest to pore over his sluggish physique - though at a glimpse of the young women around his stand in the center of the room he had a shuddering thought.
Thinking of what it must have been like in the slave market before the Hutts had discovered space travel.
The idea of a slug in lace made Oak consider giving up food for a few weeks.
As Oak approached, Por'thullo wasted no time in chortling out to him in Huttese. Even if he hadn't had some passive near-conversational understanding of it, the bounty hunter didn't need to worry because the Twi'lek girl hugged close to him from the side - close enough to be obvious about what she was trying to do, and worked to translate for him.
"His Grace would like to welcome you, Oak of the Weequay," she began. "and wishes to let you know he is pleased that you responded so promptly to his bounty. Garala was one of his most beloved possessions," Oak was fairly sure that the Hutt didn't carry the same venom in the way he'd just said it. "and since she so foolishly ran off he's been distraught. He wishes for her safe return before she finds herself in danger or in the clutches of a less kind master."
The Hutt cast his eye on one of the nearer slave girls and rasped an order at her. She reached just behind the pedestal to where Oak couldn't see and retrieved what looked like a datapad. Some tapping and his own datapad pinged him that he'd received a message. He wasn't so rude as to draw his attention away to look at it just yet.
Por'thullo continued, his Twi'lek eye-candy translating diligently, "His Grace has agents in many places and has heard rumor that she has recently been to the Corellian Sector. Perhaps trying to find credits or a way off-world. But she is foolish to think that a smart smuggler would help her. His Grace has always been proud of his prized jewel and many would know to leave her alone."
A moment of silence gave Oak the impression that it was a cue to look at the message. He pulled up his datapad and was soon greeted with a small collection of pictures. And a very specifically detailed account of her medical history and physiology. Just looking at this made Oak remember how grateful he was that he'd never extended his contract with the Blue House and chose to be an independently operating bounty hunter instead.
"She is to be brought back home to us alive and well. Her safe return will see you rewarded with 6,000 credits. And perhaps receiving His Grace's gratitude. He does not want to see her come to harm, or to be mishandled."
Oak glanced to the slave at his side and then to Por'thullo himself, "I'll do it."
An appropriately ostentatious and wordy farewell was offered and with a Twi'lek's chest still pressing into his back, Oak was turned by insistent hands to the door once more. This time as he stepped out the door was pulled shut in an obvious sign to those who might be observing that business was done for now. But before Oak could walk away the Twi'lek immediately brought him to a halt with a harsh squeeze of his shoulders before rising to her toes to whisper in his ear. If only because he was being pulled to lean down and listen, she had his interest. Also his rapidly spiking irritation, but his interest as well.
"A warning, hunter," her voice was just as soft and airy as all the other times she'd spoken - but a hundred times more venomous. "the tramp is no simple prey. She is no master of a blade, but you are not the first to be sent for her. His Grace suspects the last may have been - convinced - to leave her." A moment of silence, "His will be the next head Por'thullo pays for. Do not make his mistake."
And with that, Oak was free to leave. He gathered his bag and made way to return to his ship. First he had some planning to do. Then he'd suit up and see what he could find out about the going-ons in the Corellian sector.