The poncho, he would tell people, was the only reminder he had left of a love that broke him. He had always run cold, and she had labored for hours in response to it; when he wore it, he could swear that she was still beside him, and it brought him to tears even after that day…
This was wholly untrue, but it did give Iyalmar a measure of amusement when people’s faces would become soft and sympathetic. It wasn’t anything he used, really – unless you counted the lying practice itself worth enough trouble. There was a string of people throughout the galaxy who vaguely remembered the half-Arkanian with the sob story and the mug of lukewarm caf, and he thought they were all very precious.
Currently, the poncho was plastered against his dripping form, his steps coming down hard alongside his companion – though his strides were a good deal longer, and he had to bite back the irritation of having to slow down. The Sullustan was a personable kind of fellow, he was sure, but any potential charm was dwarfed by the imminent threat of being shot.
“And you’re sure they aren’t after you?” he asked in Huttese. At least, it was a close approximation; the language allowed little of the dialectical quirks and flourishes he preferred when sharing his thoughts, and for that he only tolerated it as a necessary baseline of communication.
If the Sullustan could hear the trill of sarcasm over the rush of wind and downpour (who was he kidding? Of course he couldn’t), he made no indication.
“Yes! Er, I think so!”
“Ah.“ Iyalmar laughed, a little shrilly. ”Of course! Of course you do.“
His task should have been relatively simple, really. Alongside the latest crew he’d found himself working with, he was both the tallest and the most familiar with languages beside Basic. It was his task to collect the client and bring him back to the ship, and from there, whatever deal was in the cards would happen while he raided the galley for something to eat, none the worse for the encounter.
Instead, he had come across the Sullustan right as a pack of hired thugs did, and he would consider himself thoroughly inconvenienced, thank-you-very-much. Apparently, he was dealing with a chronic gambler who loved running up the debts, and that almost killed any residual patience Iyalmar may have had more than the fact that he was not running nearly fast enough.
This, he thought, with a grim little smile, was why his people were so insufferable. Everyone else was so much more difficult to deal with.
“Ferrios.” The crackle of comms came as a welcome contrast to the crack of blaster fire behind him. “Engines are hot and we’re ready when you are. ETA?”
“Four minutes, if we don’t get shot,” he replied, shaking his hair out of his vision. “Our friend here has other friends and you know I’m terribly handy with a blaster.”
“Huh. I’ll have my rifle ready, big man. Don’t die.”
“Sure!” To the Sullustan, he said, “In through this tunnel. If you trip, I’m dragging you.”
The wheezed affirmative nearly dragged an eye-roll out of Iyalmar, but to his credit, he did find it in himself to feel some kind of amused. Every time he passed too close to the unadulterated sense of hostile superiority that so defined Arkania, he wrestled to lighten the emotion; a bastion of shame his line may have been, but that didn’t mean he was going to lie down embrace the ‘correct’ way of being so easily. If he was such an unbearable creature to all who came before him, then he would be so wholeheartedly.
His grip tightened on the Sullustan’s arm just in time to save him from tripping on the turn, thoughts wandering.
Maybe he would go back to Arkania, one day, if only to see the looks on their faces. Wrong-handed and green-eyed and positively glowing with friendliness from their standards. Maybe, after he left this crew. Or the next, whoever they may be and wherever their jobs would take him…
“Alright, I see you two! I can pick most of them off, but hurry it up so we can burn atmo!”
Absolutely, he thought a bit sourly, if the next job wasn’t better than this.
As Iyalmar all but bundled the Sullustan up and tossed him up the ship’s ramp – something that he might have had care not to do in any other circumstance – he mentally reviewed the ever-present, ever-growing list of traits and trades and stories to tell that would easily earn him the next job.
Terribly clever and handsome, even of sullied blood as he was? Certainly. Calm and collected in tense situations? The way he hardly flinched at the bolts ricocheting off the ramp as it slid shut attested to that. Then there was his capacity to recount and theorize on matters of scientific import, and his reportedly savage way with a melee weapon…
Iyalmar’s eyes caught the edge of his blue poncho, quietly sizzling with the three new holes burnt through it.
He sighed, loudly, before thinking about it.
A new prop for a tale, he decided; it would be something gripping and mysterious. The time he narrowly escaped a notorious crime boss’s hired hand of judgment with not only his life, but a slew of information that he dare not speak…
As the vessel punched through hyperspace and his role came to a close, Iyalmar made his way to the galley, an indulgent smile curving his lips.