The Shepherd's way (open)

[Lirreka]

The Nightwatch, a old Loronar E-9 Explorer puttered through space with its near constant and unfindable gas leak making a lovely com trail behind it. Within the battered ship its owner was not at the controls but in the meager and half-empty cargo hold deep in his daily practice regime. Stripped to the waist Conall held the Electrostave in both hands loosely, the pair of training spheres floated around him, trying to get a good shot. So far their scored hits hadn't been numerous nor more then flesh wounds, at least on their internal sensors. The hum of the staff set at odds with the -Shish- of the spheres, each sound serving as a warning of possible attack. True Conall could have destroyed the spheres three times over but that wasn't what practice was for. To defend, to be quicker then your opponent, to always stay one step ahead of him or her until it came to the point where they either faultered and you could subdue them or they saw the fruitlessness of the fight. Each hour in training could give him another minute in battle and time was always his ally. Abruptly he moved, dodging to the left while spinning the staff to the right! Two blaster bolts missed their mark, one deflected the other missing entirely. His red hair dripped with sweat and his well-defined shoulders and chest glistened with it as well, four hours of practice would do that to a person.

"Hey Meatsack!"

The sudden call was meant to distract him but it didn't. Conall instead reached out with the force and turned off both spheres. They floated to the ground as he turned around to face the speaker, he received a towel in the face.

"We're coming in for final approach, you better get up there before that fragging auto-pilot tries to land us on our tails again." Lucky, the very modified Protocol Droid was nothing if not 'unique' in his views of the galaxy.

"I still haven't figured out how to change that. But even if it was from a rack-landing fighter it was a steal at three hundred credits." He picked up the two spheres and handed them to the droid "Here, set their reaction times up another three gradients."

"Why don't you just let me boost the blaster fire until it will score REAL wounds instead of this namby pamby practice drek?"

"Because then you'd be bitching that you have to patch my wounds and you know how you hate the sight of blood." Conall smirked. Lucky shook his finger at him.

"Now you know it was just that one time and it was because I had a slasher vid corrupted in my database! I haven't screamed like a female meatsack and fainted in months!"

"Sure Lucky." Conall walked out of the cargo hold heading for the cockpit. He could hear Lucky grumbling which made him laugh.

Conall made it to the pilot's chair just as ground control gave him the go-ahead. Flipping off the auto pilot he took the controls and focused on bringing the worn ship in smoothly. With some good luck he could get a full cargo hold this time and maybe make a profit for a change. He ignored the warning beepers (most of the systems they were alerting him were faulty didn't even exist in the ship anymore) and brought the aged vessel in. The repulsorlifts fired and soon the clunky ship was down.

"Okay Lucky, we're down" He called back through the ship. "Go get that contact of yours and see if he can get us some parts for that resonator, if we leave it running hot it'll burn out the hyperspace inductor. I'll see about the cargo."

"Yeah, yeah I heard ya, resonator parts... on the list! You just focus on getting us something that'll sell for a change and for the love of Swad DON'T pick up any females, you know they're always trouble and not the good kind that pays!

"Yes Mother." Conall sighed as he started to search for his shirt. He heard the drop ramp -CLANG- down and sighed "Gotta get those hydrolics fixed." First off however was cargo to sell.

 

[Lirreka]

Conall found his shirt and more importantly his great coat. Putting it on he slid the collapsed Electrostave into the sheath within the lining of the coat and walked down the ramp into the bright Coruscant sunlight. He pushed a few buttons to get the ramp to retract but when the servos started to whine he turned and kicked the one hydrolic ram a few times before it let loose.

"Yeah definately going to have to fix them soon."

He walked off along the accessway, certainly he could find 35 tons of something that would sell in Corellia. Something he could buy cheap enough that he could turn a profit this run. The grumble of his stomach however had to be dealt with first. If your stomach rumbled in a negotiation the price always rose. Finding a Cantina near the port was easy enough and luckly the few pieces of Hutt coinage got a good exchange rate here so he could actually get more then just one or two pieces of nutriant-bar.

Taking his meager meal to an empty booth he slid in and took a seat. Saying a quiet prayer over the food (True it was unlikely ANY of it was once a living creature but still) he then sat into eating and silencing his stomach.

 

[lakorish]

"Fifteen dead refugees means nothing to me," the grumpy, old smuggler said obnoxiously loudly. It was doubtful that very many people actually were paying attention to this cooke, but it was exceedingly annoying that somone was just blurting Jedi buisness at the top of their lungs, "I only care that I have 50 TONS OF CRAP that I need to dump or that slimey hutt will have a...*breaks for a long swig of foul smelling alcohol*...a bounty on me so large that...*the glass falls and the drunk's eyes grow as wide as saucers and he presses himself as far against the wall as he possibly can. "No, don't! I beg of you!!!" Three blaster bolts zoomed out nowhere and forever silenced the man.

"Old b******. No friends, no ship, no self respect, but worse off...no money and a list of debts as high as a Rodian on Death Sticks." A human of moderate height took a seat next to the recently deceased. Joni could sense that three other men who had walked into the bar with this new intruder took seats at the bar. "Fifteen dead refugees happen to be my buisness. You see, I am the killer." No one in the bar seemed to be taking any mind, but Joni could nearly taste the tension in the air. No one wanted any Jedi trouble; the man must be stark, raving mad. "I can make you a deal. You walk out of this bar, go to your little High Council and give them a message for me, and I will let you get out of this alive. I will also..." Joni pinched the bridge of his nose. He seemed to have a headache straight between the eyes and it was because of this man. I will never negotiate with serial killers and criminals. Death will come all to quickly for you... Joni's lightsaber ignited underneath the table.