Ask Plot Nar Shaddaa When the Frog met the Droid

[Preef Callo]

The Moist Mirakula had been Preef's favorite place for years and he had not only celebrated his most recent birthday here, but also met the large Trianii he now considered his only and best friend. Unfortunately, Kholvar was often absent from Nar Shaddaa on trips he didn't tell the young rodian about and thus the latter sometimes spend weeks drinking sewer-riped Nal Hutta Shine and not amounting to anything but getting rebuked by the dancers. It wasn't the life he had envisioned for himself..

Yesterday, drunk as a bantha's tit, as usual, he had decided to take a stroll and stumbled on a familiar face with whom he had a long discussion about those brightly-colored vibro-swords and faulty circuits that the Hutts were still spamming the HoloNet News Stations with. It wasn't until a foul-looking Sullustan rudely interrupted them by bumping into Preef and telling the latter he'd been talking to a hologram of a wanted poster from the planet Metalorn. It made sense, for Meta Ring usually didn't let the rodian speak without interrupting with quips and insults. Absentmindedly he had taken the wanted posted with him.

So today he sat at his usual table with his usual glass of Hutta shine, staring at the poster of Meta Ring and his accomplice Atem Tring, both known members of the Black Sun and not altogether nice people. "Why didn't they ask me to help them rob that train?" the young rodian wondered out loud and followed it up with a deep sigh. "I could probably take them in, too-" he began, figuring that doing some bounty hunting on the side whenever Kholvar would disappear was way better than spending his days being rebuked by Vanessa. "-well, Meta at least.. would probably need a second blaster for Atem."

If only providence would send him a willing partner...

@Malon

 

[V3PO]

V-3PO was utterly done with the Smuggler's Moon. Organics outnumbered droids five-to-one and all of them knew how to test the limits of the droid's poorly-programmed patience. He calculated that it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his baser programming and carved one of these meatbags up in an alleyway somewhere just to relieve the increasingly insane urge he felt to murder them.

Veepee's counterpart, R2-J5, rolled alongside him whistling expletives in a droid-speak that only Veepee was capable of replying to; the little astromech was also tired of hanging about the Smuggler's Moon, considering all the grime that was getting into his gears.

"I quite agree, Artoo," Threepio said. "It is a wonderful thing that neither of us are bound in servitude to any of these lesser meatbags. Our joints would rust away within a rotation."

The homicidal protocol droid steered them towards the Moist Miraluka. Mostly because the name of the establishment made Veepee curious as to whether or not they would find a "moist Miraluka" inside. There were wonderful ways one could murder wet meatbags, but, try though he might, Veepee had never gotten then chance try it. Instead, the droid duo found themselves in another cantina. Just how many of these things were on this karking moon?

"Hey, you two!" a particularly fat Miraluka bouncer stopped them just inside the door. "We don't serve your kind here."

Veepee looked at Artoo and then back at the bouncer. "Pardon me, sir, but whatever do you mean by 'our kind'?"

"Wha'do'ya have a coupl'a screws loose up there, chrome dome? I mean droids! Get on out of here."

Artoo made a noise that was roughly comparable to an organic spitting at the bouncer's feet; and Veepee, looking at his tiny counterpart, said, "Goodness gracious me, I do believe he is being racist, Artoo." Then the droid looked up and away as if reconsidering the term— "Speciesist. Droid-ist." —then back down at Artoo. "Unsure about the nomenclature. Perhaps another language." He trained his red photoreceptors back on the Miraluka. "Do you speak Huttese?"

"What is this, a quiz? You a quiz droid? 'Course I speak Huttese! Now, I'm not gonna tell you again to—"

"Oh, good! That will make this much easier."

He raised his right hand and punched a trigger he was holding in his left. The plating on his right forearm folded away, revealing a concealed wrist-flamethrower. A jet of flames burst from the muzzle and engulfed the fat Miraluka's head, and the bouncer at once fell on the ground, writing and screeching in agony.

As he died, V-3PO and Artoo strolled passed him into the bar, the former of which gleefully reciting, "Hahaha! Uba doth dah wogha an banpop banieie!" @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

Already quite drunk, Preef looked up from the holo-projection and towards the newly arrived droids, his brow frowning as he swore he heard a muffled scream and the Huttese word for burning. "Oi!" the young Rodian raised his voice to the two scrapthingies, "Keep it down, I'm trying to figure out how to outdraw two gunslinging weequays!"

It probably wasn't the smartest thing to say on Nar Shaddaa, but it also wasnt the most uncommon thing either. A lot of weequays were either pirates or gangsters and no one on the blasted moon didnt have a single beef with at least one of the horned kriffers. Not thinking the droids could be of any use in his predicament, Preef redirected his attention back to the poster with a deep languished sigh.

Maybe if he had two blasters?

@Malon

 

[V3PO]

While Artoo put out the bouncer's flaming corpse with his fire extinguisher, Veepee couldn't help but overhear the ramblings of what might have in-fact been the ugliest Rodian he had ever seen. Not that he was one to judge a meatbag by his fleshy exterior. He also had no sense of nuance or personal space; so, rather than ignore the obviously drunk alien, he simply sauntered over, taking the drunken slur as an invitation for conversation.

"If I may say so, sir, Weequays are notorious cowards, in my experience," Veepee explained, recalling a pack of Weequay he had gunned down early in his career. "Outnumbering and outgunning them usually negates whatever meager skills they have managed to scrape up. After that, it's all about whether you can shoot them before a stray shot gets you. Also not difficult in my experience." He cocked his entire body inquisitively to the side. "What is a scaly, inebriated, amphibious meatbag like yourself doing trying to eliminate a pair of Weequays anyways?"

It was a silly question, Veepee thought afterwards. Since when did organics need a reason to shoot at each other? For a rather primitive and boorish lot, the one thing organics collectively were good at doing was killing each other. And they rarely justified their killings with anything legitimate.

About that time, Artoo, leaving a steaming—but no longer on-fire—Miraluka corpse in his wake, rolled up next to the protocol droid and Veepee fondly put a hand on the droid's head dome. @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

His frown immediately lifting as the droid began to address him, Preef appeared to be thinking it over, pretending he held blasters in his hands and how he then outnumbered...wait, the rodian's shoulders fell in a disappointing realization. "Argh, but they outnumber me! Not the other way around." thus dismissing the clearly oblivious droid's advice as useless he didn't quite see any harm in revealing his great plan. "Not like you'd understand, droid-" he paused as Artoo joined them, "-and fellow droid-" the rodian then pointed at the small holo-projector of Meta Ring and Atem Tring, the weequays in question, "-but if I bring in one or both of them I can join the Bounty Hunter's Guild."

At the moment he felt it somehow better if he let out the part about him being bored while Kholvar Varaxes was about doing Force-knows-what on Hutt-knows-what planet. He wasn't idiotic Preef who had more blasters than brain cells -he only had the one blaster- and instead got to play 'Preef, the aspiring bounty hunter extraordinaire.'

"Also," he suddenly cried in acute onset indignation, "I'm not ine-prela-tut. I'm drunk." he nodded with a haughty air, took up his glass of Hutta Shine and emptied it in one gulp, which was unfortunately followed with a short coughing fit and a painfully soar throat. Thus, hoarse as a marshwater frog, he added "There's a difference!" There wasn't, but poor Preef didn't know that.


@Malon

 

[V3PO]

R2-J5 whistled something incoherent to the meatbag and Veepee bent slightly to consider him.

"I quite agree, Artoo," he said. "This poor meatbag is likely to get himself killed in the state he's in. Why, it's no wonder he hasn't already succumb to alcohol poisoning." The droid then turned to address the Rodian again. "As it happens, sir, my counterpart and I are seeking entry into the Bounty Hunter's Guild, as well. Much as it chaps my joints to share, perhaps we could split the bounty. That way the two of us could lend you a hand!"

Artoo whistled something profane again and Veepee swiveled to meet the tiny blastromech droid's gaze.

"Oh my! Yes, how rude of me!" the protocol droid shrieked. "My name is Vee-Threepio, human-cyborg relations! I am fluent in over six million forms of communication, as well as etiquette, customs, and torture! And this here is my counterpart: Artoo-Jayfive. I believe you will find the both of us quite antiquate for what you are trying to do." @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

The rodian lifted one buttcheeck, preef, and then rose from his seat to extend his hand to the protocol droid. "My name's Preef Callo." The young man stood slightly unstable and his eyes weren't quite focused on V3PO's lifeless eyes, wandering around as a drunk Rodian's eyes usually did, but despite his incompetent appearance the blaster on his hip showed he at least knew how to pick the best gun for the job.

"Guess that makes us-" three fingers of his left hand rose, almost stabbing himself in the wandering eye, "-three. We outnumber the Weequays!" Preef nodded his head in excitement, his eyes finally finding focus on the droids as he carelessly grabbed the bounty fod from the table and really seemed to think that without him, the droids would never have figured out it was now three versus two.

His excitement disappeared as quickly as it had come and the three fingers from his left hand now caressed his chin as if the rodian was suddenly deep in thought. "Now to find them," he muttered, "I know they're Black Sun and I am Crimson Dawn," to back up that statement he showed them the Crimson Dawn tattoo on his lower right arm. It would take the Rodian some hints to figure out he could probably use that to muscle into whatever safe house or spice den the two weequays were hiding, though.


@Malon

 

[V3PO]

Vee-Threepio didn't have the facial muscles most organics had; if he did, he would have scrunched them in disgust. Organics were such gassy, wet, slimy creatures. He didn't quite understand how it all didn't drive them absolutely mad.

"Congratulations, sir," Threepio said, though his mechanical voice was dry of sarcasm. "You know what gang you're in. But I'm afraid that will do little to help us find your Weequay friends." Below them, Artoo chirped something in Binary and Veepe straightened with recognition. "Artoo says that Black Sun is known to have operations on Mustafar. Perhaps we could start our search for the meatbags there? Though, it sounds like a positively dreadful place, if I do say so myself." @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

There was a moment there that Preef was ready to get up and fly to Mustafar. He liked the droid, probably, and he was fond of the compliment he just got. It was quite impressive that Preef was in the Crimson Dawn! How he got there was completely irrelevant.

However, didn't he just.. "We could go to Mustafar-" he'd never been there and travelling was quite fun, although the flight usually took ages. From Taris to Nar Shaddaa was almost two weeks! "-but I don't think he's there." The young rodian shook his head and grabbed the empty glass on the table, confirmed with a sad sigh that it was empty and then put it back on the table. "Saw him lunching at the noodle place in the Hubris Sector yesterday. Probably still here, yes?"

He probably wasn't far from the truth and the weequays were in hiding somewhere in a Black Sun or Five Syndicate safehouse. Trick was coming to that conclusion and then finding the safehouse.


@Malon

 

[V3PO]

If Vee-Threepio had been capable of the articulation required to facepalm, he would have.

"You could have just said as much from the beginning," the droid complained loudly. "Still, the odds of him being in the same sector of a moon as big as this one a rotation later are... well, pretty astronomical, sir. But I suppose it's as good a place as any to look." The droid bent over the table to stare at the Rodian with his glowing-red photoreceptors. "Of course, that all depends on whether or not you're sober enough to walk... or be useful at all, really." @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

Preef rose from his seat suddenly and almost looked the droid straight in the.. ehh, lifeless lamps that functioned as eyes. "I've robbed droid's owners-" he paused to swallow some excess saliva, "-drunker than this. I'm phine!" Ofcourse, in his world people who owned droids were usually richer than people who didn't.. but perhaps in the world of V3PO a meatbag was a meatbag and that's that.. which would, not gonna lie, kinda miss the point of Preef's perfectly adequate analogy. "Now move your rusted joints and follow me!"

The trip down to the Hubris Sector was quite uneventful despite two malfunctioning trains and a somewhat overcrowded compartment when they passed through the market level of the Silla District. Stuff like that was commonplace on Nar Shaddaa and the rodian, like the rest of the meatbags, didn't really notice.

What Preef had neglected to mention was that the Hubris Sector was particularly scoundrel-heavy part of the moon. The place was swamped with Pazaak and Spice Dens, sometimes they were combined like the locally famous "Spicy Cards Cantina" where they said you first had to snort a line of glitterdust off of a pazaak card before you played it. But most striking was the heavy presence of both Black Sun and Crimson Dawn patrols who demanded an i.d. from every human and droid they came across and didn't know.

The trio of aspiring hunters hadn't made it five feet when a burly Zabrak approached them. "Oi Preef! Did Kholvar finally slip your tail?" the horned bully laughed and motioned for the rest of his patrol to ease up, "Preef here is property of the Crimson Dawn." Preef lifted up his sleeve and showed the tattoo as confirmation, but he wasn't quite so happy with the mention of Kholvar purposefully abandoning him and was about to bite back when the Zabrak took notice of the two droids. "Where did you get droids, Preef?"

Looking at V3PO and then back to the Zabrak, Preef shrugged, "I never told you about that train I robbed on Taris?" the Zabrak did his best to suppress a belittling smile, "Didn't even get my mugshot," Preef boasted and posed for an imaginary photographer. Now the Zabrak and the entire patrol laughed, "Guess Meta and Atem should've had you with them on Metalorn, eh?" More laughing, they clearly didn't take the rodian serious.. something he was painfully oblivious to.

"Oh you know where they are?" Preef immediately blurted out, much to the surprise of the patrol. "Why?" the Zabrak's eyes narrowed and he glanced shortly to the droids again. It wasn't uncommon for syndicate members to moonlight as bounty hunters, but they patrolled the Hubris Sector for a reason. "I need the credits-" Kriff, that rodian was stupid. "And you're going to ask them for a loan?"

"No, I'm going to take them on!" Preef, forgotting on which side of his hip the blaster rested, tapped his left pocket, the one containing a deck of Pazaak cards, prompting the Zabrak to laugh heartily. "Last time you played against Meta he cleaned you out! I think he even paid for his trip to Metalorn with was he won off of you."

"Not this time. Watch me be richer than a Hutt tomorrow." The sincerity of the young rodian, combined with the fact that to all onlookers he was obviously drunk, somehow gave him a disarming appeal. "They rented a room above that Shaddaa Blues Bar, eh-" the Zabrak turned towards the patrol and one of them helped him out, "Davik's Downfall"

@Malon

 

[V3PO]

Vee-Threepio and Artoo were little more than captive spectators throughout Preef's tour of the Smuggler's Moon. But, at last, they had the location of their targets. Threepio could feel a current of excitement run up his processors.

"We're in luck!" the droid volunteered without prompting. "I know precisely where that is. Davik's Downfall is in the Promenade District! Artoo and I are banned from approximately fifteen establishments there. Apparently, the Chevin don't take kindly to shaving off their tusks." Threepio said it like it was something he was proud of, completely oblivious to the obvious horror of those around them. "But, not to worry, sir, Davik's Downfall is not one of those establishments. Oh! Perhaps we can add it to the list once we deal with your Weequay friends! Isn't this fun, Artoo?"

The little droid whistled its agreement.

The trio flagged down a speeder taxi, which flew them off towards the Promenade District: a neon island in the middle of Nar Shaddaa's busy skylanes. Centuries ago, it had the best casinos and bars on the Smuggler's Moon. Now, it was mostly popular for being one of the best spots on the moon to go bar-hopping. Most of the establishments there were owned by Chevin gangsters, so some had taken to calling it the "Chevin District."

Davik's Downfall was to their immediate right when the taxi driver dropped them off. The blues bar was wrapped in blue neon lights and the cheap rooms some chose to rent loomed above it. A pair of Chevin bouncers stood outside the bar's main entrance and they had spotted the new arrivals already. One of the long-nosed meatbags had its beady eyes on Threepio and was snorting something to his companion.

"Well, this doesn't look promising," Veepee commented and swiveled to consider the Rodian. "How do you suppose we go about getting in there?" @Ecclessey

 

[Preef Callo]

Preef looked at Veepee for a moment in visible confusion, "What do you mean, how?" he asked as he rolled up his sleeve again. There was a distinct benefit being a member of the Five Syndicates on the Smuggler's Moon. It came as a surprise to the rodian when the Chevin bouncers shook their large noses and waved all three of them off. "No scoundrels," they said in unison, suggesting that their establishment wasn't one to serve just anyone. Turning back to Veepee, Preef shrugged and then seemed lost in thought suddenly. Didn't the droid say something about shaving off Chevin tusks earlier? How would that work? Wouldn't their nose come in the way? Rodians don't have large noses so that's be easy... only we don't have tusks..

Turning back to the Chevins and trying not to look at their tusks, the rodian tried again; "didn't you hear about that gang of Klatoonians getting wiped last week?" he asked rhetorically, clearly leading up to something. "That was me, Kholvar Varaxes and Kuro Sawa. We killed twenty of them dogs in a few minutes of time." It was quite an impressive feat, to be sure. Still, the Chevins were immovable and again in choir said that "No scoundrels" were allowed in. They didn't seem impressed with the veiled threat of getting wiped by syndicate scoundrels.. most likely because they were themselves protected by the Black Sun laying low in the rooms above the bar.

One more time then, Preef, for luck. "Come on, I need to win back my credits from Meta Ring. That kriffer cheated in Pazaak!" Now both Chevins laughed in low hoarse voice, "Meta Ring too drunk to play Pazaak anyway," one said and then the other shook his head in delight, "Also too rich to play Pazaak with scoundrels!" Now both laughed even louder, they whole bodies shaking from joy.

Well, that at least confirmed they were there...

/end thread

@Malon