((OOC))
The space station hung in orbit around an uncivilised, albeit inhabited moon in a dank, boring corner of the galaxy. It was perfectly placed for the job it served. Looking like any leisure station from the outside, its concealed weapons were not designed for great battles and defenses, but much like the internal defenses, they were intended to prevent unrest. The atmosphere of the station was volatile, and though concealed, everyone present knew that breaking the rules resulted in trouble, and if they escaped alive, most likely a hefty bounty on their head from the secretive benefactor behind the station. Not to mention the loaded automated message to all docking ships, in the blank, robotic female voice, ending with the ominous "...will be dealt with accordingly." It left little to the imagination.
The station itself was not vast or huge in scale, it contained hangers, shared and private, for rent, as well as docking facilities for the massive haulers that brought all sorts of commodities for sale. The amenities were scarce, basic living quarters for the full time employees that were not electronic, as well as a few rooms for short term rent. Eateries and a couple of cantinas about summed up the rest. The station was not designed for extended stay. Even year round traders, whose stocks were supplied by associates as and when, were in the vast minority.
Raphael and Koko had been on the station for barely an hour. It had taken that long to get from their ship past the various checks, which seemed far more concerned with the contents of his wallet than his holster. Disguised as a criminal with cash on his hip and a couple of small containers of spice for sale, in his usual leather jacket and black trousers and boots, along with black fingerless mechanic's gloves, a black patterned bandana and aviator sunglasses, along with a newly brown moustache and goatee, to conceal his potentially recognisable hair and face. A visible pistol hung at his belt, as well as a few other pouches which concealed not only samples of spice for his selling persona, to his lightsaber which was out of sight.
Hit lit a cigarette as the pair walked silently into the main chamber, a vast room with high ceilings, bustling with scum and villainy. As he began to walk down past the first few stalls, he noticed everything from spice dealers, to dangerous weaponry, to advanced parts of swoop bikes and ships, to cages of slaves, wookies in some, twi'leks in others, and all manner of other species in others. He did not let his disgust show in his face. He kept focused, looking for the particular item they were trying to find, a recently stolen holocron. There were various items of Jedi contraband for sale, both light and dark, from weapons, broken lightsabers and parts, to fake holocrons and amulets. It would take a while for him to locate the real one at this rate.
Various vendors barked their prices for their goods. 'Genuine this' and 'Bargains' for illegal contraband, many more harping on about their ability to "Buy or Sell!". Most of it would be what Raphael referred to as 'Quality Crap'. The slave traders were worst: "this lovely twi'lek is what your harem is missing" or "this wookiee is of the perfect build for your labour needs".
Koko would of course be walking close to him as they wandered down the first line.
"Well this is charming..." he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear.
The space station hung in orbit around an uncivilised, albeit inhabited moon in a dank, boring corner of the galaxy. It was perfectly placed for the job it served. Looking like any leisure station from the outside, its concealed weapons were not designed for great battles and defenses, but much like the internal defenses, they were intended to prevent unrest. The atmosphere of the station was volatile, and though concealed, everyone present knew that breaking the rules resulted in trouble, and if they escaped alive, most likely a hefty bounty on their head from the secretive benefactor behind the station. Not to mention the loaded automated message to all docking ships, in the blank, robotic female voice, ending with the ominous "...will be dealt with accordingly." It left little to the imagination.
The station itself was not vast or huge in scale, it contained hangers, shared and private, for rent, as well as docking facilities for the massive haulers that brought all sorts of commodities for sale. The amenities were scarce, basic living quarters for the full time employees that were not electronic, as well as a few rooms for short term rent. Eateries and a couple of cantinas about summed up the rest. The station was not designed for extended stay. Even year round traders, whose stocks were supplied by associates as and when, were in the vast minority.
Raphael and Koko had been on the station for barely an hour. It had taken that long to get from their ship past the various checks, which seemed far more concerned with the contents of his wallet than his holster. Disguised as a criminal with cash on his hip and a couple of small containers of spice for sale, in his usual leather jacket and black trousers and boots, along with black fingerless mechanic's gloves, a black patterned bandana and aviator sunglasses, along with a newly brown moustache and goatee, to conceal his potentially recognisable hair and face. A visible pistol hung at his belt, as well as a few other pouches which concealed not only samples of spice for his selling persona, to his lightsaber which was out of sight.
Hit lit a cigarette as the pair walked silently into the main chamber, a vast room with high ceilings, bustling with scum and villainy. As he began to walk down past the first few stalls, he noticed everything from spice dealers, to dangerous weaponry, to advanced parts of swoop bikes and ships, to cages of slaves, wookies in some, twi'leks in others, and all manner of other species in others. He did not let his disgust show in his face. He kept focused, looking for the particular item they were trying to find, a recently stolen holocron. There were various items of Jedi contraband for sale, both light and dark, from weapons, broken lightsabers and parts, to fake holocrons and amulets. It would take a while for him to locate the real one at this rate.
Various vendors barked their prices for their goods. 'Genuine this' and 'Bargains' for illegal contraband, many more harping on about their ability to "Buy or Sell!". Most of it would be what Raphael referred to as 'Quality Crap'. The slave traders were worst: "this lovely twi'lek is what your harem is missing" or "this wookiee is of the perfect build for your labour needs".
Koko would of course be walking close to him as they wandered down the first line.
"Well this is charming..." he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear.
