Open Tatooine Sun's Out...

[Zafara Yoh]

"Just when I thought I was out..." The young Yoh muttered to herself as she slowly waded through the streets of Tatooine. Turns out her hostage wasn't very fond of being held against his will so when they had landed in the spaceport on Tatooine, he escaped and flew off. Which left Zafara in quite the predicament as all of her equipment was on his ship, which was now probably parsecs away. Luckily, nothing important was lost, however, she was now incapable of defending herself and unable to actually fulfill any sort of bounty jobs. Truly in a difficult position, the teenager had full faith that life would sort itself out. Eventually.

Though, in the meantime she would need something to do as twiddling her thumbs waiting for something to happen was her most despised pastime. Awkwardly shuffling her way into the nearest cantina, Zafara figured having her ears violated by bad music was better than roasting out in the sun. Sitting at the bar, she kept an eye on the room and the unsavory characters that came in and out. Some that looked like her, others having appearances she could have never even conceived. It was a bit... overwhelming to say the least.

However, just before Zafara's brain started to overheat from the sheer amount of info she was getting, a stranger barged into the room.

"Who here's good at killing Tuskans?"

---

 

[Ki Jem-Taan]

She hadn't come there to drink, like the unwashed throng around her hunkered over their glasses. Ki sipped on an innocuous beverage, the only thing she could tell about it was that it was not alcoholic. She remembered the teachings, how the body wasn't to be a dump. The Teachings. She wanted to forget them, to forget the Seyugi, to forget that she had slept through 150 years of the galaxy changing while she sat in carbonite. Somehow, she had been stolen from the secret vault where she and her comrades were frozen and hidden to avoid extermination by the Jedi. She coughed a laugh. Since then, the Jedi had been almost wiped out and rebuilt. She awoke to a galaxy she didn't know. Once she fled the Jedi, now she was going to seek them out.

But first she needed to get off the rock. The Hutt that owned her pushed a slave too far and to retaliate he thawed out his master's prize, a Seyugi Dervish frozen in carbonite. Ki had nothing other than what she swiped as she slipped away, or stole. A strange aversion to using the Force, at least calling on the Dark Side as she was trained, gripped her, so Ki avoided it. That was why she sough the Jedi, to rid her of the corruption of so many evil deeds.

The din of the cantina was overwhelmed by a booming voice.

"Who here's good at killing Tuskens?"

It sounded like an invitation, and out of sheer boredom, and maybe a bit of that old Dervish in her, Ki stood to her feet. She wore bantha leather and some sort of blade strapped to her thigh in a sheath. The woman's voice sounded starkly feminine in contrast to the stranger. "And why are you wanting to kill Sand People?" Ki asked boldly.

 

[John Q]

John walked over to Ki. He was tall and although that was not his most important feature sometimes that gave him the right. His most important feature was that he stunk– wearing blue overalls spotted black with grease and dirt. He looked at the wrinkles in the woman’s face and spat to his left.

“Tuskans attacked the mining operation here. I’m looking for someone that can provide security. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked her.

 

[Jaro Mox]

Jaro sat at a booth nearby with a few folk he never bothered to learn the names of. He'd just arrived to the planet that day to hand in a courier job, one as boring as the last. While he waited for the next opportunity to spend a few bolts, he was talked into playing Pazaak, which the Mandalorian had begun to grow bored of. He'd lose a few rounds, win a few rounds. He usually broke even. The glow from his cigarra lit up the hand of cards he held atop the angular table as he peered between it and his adversaries.

He was clad in his armor, his helmet sat at his side on the bench. Something drew his mind from the game, however, when the rough voice rang out in a familiar format of invitation.

"Who here's good at killing Tuskans?"

Well, sure, Jaro thought. He'd never actually killed a Tusken specifically, before, of course, but how hard could it be? A new chance to test himself was always welcome, provided it paid more than Pazaak. He placed down his hand of cards face up, earning a few annoyed groans and curses in foreign tongues from the people he'd been playing with. He took the cigarra from his mouth with a smirk, extinguished it against the durasteel table, and then lifted the helmet to slot onto his head as he slipped away from the group.

As he located and neared the source of the proposition, his visor panned between Ki and John impassively, with his hands resting on his utility belt. The mercenary interjected at John's question through his helmet's filter: "How much does it pay?" he'd posed in turn, more so to gauge the weight of the job than for the credits' sake. He leaned forward a little, just loud enough to be heard over the cantina din.