Terminus, Black Betty Spaceport
2046 local time
Terminus, one of the most important trade planets in the middle of thrice-damned nowhere. Pirates, smugglers, sneaky little corporations and everything else. All had some kind of presence in a city world built on a base of goods and services drawn from places most in the galaxy hadn't even heard of. It was the gateway to rarities unseen, a rich planet because of its location rather than despite it. And lately, people kept trying to fuck with it.
Sith, Mandalorians, nameless nobodies in gunships. As of late, the planet's out-of-the-way economy was under threat. Although no invasion had really gone anywhere, the trouble they caused sent things into a frenzy. Among other things, this meant some local groups were packing up to hoard their goods or sell them en-masse. But, because this was Terminus, that gave others an opportunity for their own profits.
Especially if they tended to blend right into the masses. So there Duran was, relaxed and slow-burning through a cigar across the road from the Black Betty spaceport. In fact, he was at a cigar bar near a semi-popular whiskey joint known for its rare and unusual bottles. Shame not to visit while he was in-system, but that'd have to wait. For now, he was watching for the arrival of two things: A particular ship headed to Docking Bay C3, and his partner for the job ahead.
Casing a joint wasn't the most thrilling step, but with any luck, there'd be something to talk about besides the weather. Which, for the record, was shit. Lukewarm drizzles of polluted rain, resembling getting peppered with used bathwater from on high, did nothing to boost the grey ambiance of Terminus' utilitarian architecture. At least he wouldn't be short cigars for the wait.
@Sreeya