Daniel Ciin (miaiphonos) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-06-02 09:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | !locale: coruscant, sinjir fel |
better hear what I've gotta say
Who: Sinjir
What: Sinjir finds Kaz's attacker. Things get ugly.
When: The day after this.
Where: Coruscant's undercity
Rating: R for language and graphic violence.
Sinjir slipped from Kaz's bed early in the morning. His partner's heavy breaths altered only a little as he moved; Sin had long ago perfected the art of leaving without being noticed. He found his clothes in the piles where they had left them. They smelled of sweat and sex and spilled liquor, but they would serve for the work ahead. He dressed as he walked to the door. Took a pull from the discarded bottle of whiskey, and left for the wider world outside.
It took less effort than he had expected to find the source of his current discontent. Palms were easily greased on Coruscant, and Sinjir was owed numerous favors, besides. By midmorning he had a name. An hour later, he had coordinates. He hailed a cab and descended to the undercity. He cracked his knuckles in the back of the cab. The driver glanced to him in the mirror. Whatever the man saw caused him to slowly but decisively raise the tinted partition between them. Sinjir was grateful. Some plans required privacy, however little he might find.
When he arrived on the lower level, he tipped the driver well. Unspoken and unnecessary was the understanding that the driver had seen nothing and would say even less. The cab disappeared upward, back into the sunlight it had left behind. Sinjir pulled up the collar of his coat, concealing what he could of his face. This far down, no-one looked up unless they had to; not a single creature met each other's eyes as they passed. He went largely unnoticed as he approached the shop, keeping to the shadows, maintaining his unusual silence.
The man he was looking for had a part time job at this locally-owned pawn shop; it was a place not only for things, but for information. The front room for customers was barely big enough to breathe in, so filled was it by objects from all over the galaxy. A rodian manned the front desk, its bulbous eyes taking Sinjir in the moment he entered. A five-digited green hand that looked closer kin to a plant rose in greeting, and the rodian chirped at him in its home language before following up the welcome in Basic.
"Good tidings, friend. What may I assist you in finding today? We have an exquisite new collection of Lalmy'ashian pearls that were recently...acquired."
Sinjir flashed a smile that, where it touched his eyes, did not look like a smile at all. "Appreciated," Sinjir said. "But I'm looking for a gift, and I need something special." He nodded toward the back wall, where a narrow corridor led to other, deeper rooms. Gently, so that they made no sound, he placed a small stack of credits on the glass-topped counter. "Think you've got anything like that?"
The rodian's face, incapable of human expression, still seemed to emit an air of wariness. The round, red eyes studied Sinjir anew. "I might, but it's much more expensive than that."
"Then consider this a down payment," Sinjir said, quietly adding to the little pyramid perched before the rodian. "If I find what I want there's more where that came from, plus a finder's fee." His grin sharpened to a fine point. "Otherwise I'll gladly pick something out of this front room to take with me as well, and I don't think you're gonna like what I've got my eye on. Your call, friend."
Green hands came up, offering no ill will. "By all means, sir, help yourself. Or will you need assistance?"
"I'm good."
Sinjir slid away from the counter, circling it like a nexu stalking its prey. As he passed a tall bookshelf to his left he reached out, swiping a hydrospanner from a rusting collection of tools. Its weight was a comfort in his hands. He swung it back and forth as he walked, held low against his side.
He passed three doors before he found the one that he wanted. It was painted a dull, grimy yellow, a sign for caution he meant to ignore. He pushed the door open with his free hand and slipped quietly inside.
The room inside was dingy and just as packed to the brim as every other inch of space inside the grimy pawn shop. A man with dull brown hair had a headset on while sorting through what looked like piles of garbage, blocking him from hearing Sinjir's entrance. He seemed to be muttering under his breath as he stopped for a moment, and slid a holoreader out from one of his pockets to check on a message.
The door closed silently behind the intruder. Sinjir padded stealthily behind the young man. Even at this distance he knew it was the man he sought. He raised the hydrospanner and tapped delicately at the man's burdened arm.
At first the man merely glanced back, but once realization hit him, he jumped, shoving his headset down. Music blared up from the tiny speakers.
"Help you?" His brow knotted with some concern, eyes darting from the tool in Sinjir's hand and back up to the man's face.
"I hope so," Sinjir said. "I hear you're the man to see about explosives. Your recent work against the Bha'lir, of all thingsā¦ that took balls. How'd you manage a trick like that?"
The man's eyes widened, and he took a step away from Sinjir, uneasy about the man's handling of the hydrospanner. "I... Why? You looking for a job?"
"Well that depends. I want to know who I'd be working with, first. So answer the question. I really don't like repeating myself." The spanner spun lazily in a twist of Sinjir's fingers. "How. Did you manage. To bomb a Bha'lir ship?"
"You wanna...you wanna put that down, first? 'Cause you're coming off real threatening, friend." The man held up his hands in a peace offering gesture, the holoreader still ensconced in his right. He shrugged. "It wasn't that hard -- guy got sloppy. I guess they're lowering their standards for membership, you know? He hired one too many men, not paying 'em enough. You slip someone a few credits, they're OK with slipping something extra onboard the ship. Provided they're not on board at the time, of course."
Sinjir's jaw tightened to a hard, tight line. Anger kindled hot in his chest, tightening his fingers on the makeshift weapon in his hand. "Oh, of course," he said. "This someone got a name?" He reached out, tapping the holoreader with the end of the spanner. Its heavy metal tip came dangerously close to the other man's fingers. "Maybe a location?"
"What's in it for me if I do?" The man flinched back, pulling the holoreader from Sinjir's reach. His fingers tightened around the device. "I mean come on, you gotta make this worth my while. It was just a job, you know? Fucking asshole was selling guns to the First Order. That makes him less than scum. It's too bad he didn't die in the explosion."
Sinjir took a quick step closer, leaning into the sudden, heavy swing of the spanner. The sharp crack of bone splintering reverberated through his fingers and rang in his ears; the man's high-pitched shriek from the pain laced the air. Sin dropped the spanner as the man's shattered kneecap buckled, stalking bare-handed toward his falling prey. His hands were hard fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.
"I'll make it worth your fucking while," Sinjir said. "I won't strap you to my next case of thermals bound for a TIE hangar. Sound like a deal?"
"What...what the fuck? Get back," the man stammered out, trying to hold a hand up to ward Sinjir off while simultaneously attempting to crawl away. The holoreader's fall to the floor left it with a smashed screen, but the man didn't give it a second glance as his hands scrambled for anything to protect himself with.
Sinjir was on him in an instant. He straddled the man's chest, knees braced against his heaving ribs. He grabbed the man's wrist, slamming it into the plastocrete floor until something there, too, broke. The man's eyes rolled into the back of his head from the pain.
"I'm on your side, you stupid fuck," he said. He drove the broken hand back into the floor. One finger twisted at an unnatural angle. "And when I need the Bha'lir, so is that pilot." He struck again. "I know you and yours don't like that, but sometimes you've gotta break some eggs to make a cake, and I'm making quite a godsdamned cake. That ship and its captain are untouchable unless I say otherwise." Another strike; the broken fingers were a bouquet of snapped twigs. "Tell your fucking friends or I'll tell them myself."
The man struggled to nod, his face twisted away from Sinjir in a lame attempt to prevent damage there. Pain shot through every nerve of his body, and he held impossibly still, as though this would soothe his attacker's rage.
Sinjir took his ravaged hand and squeezed. "Tell me you understand what I'm saying or I start on the other one." With his free hand he reached up and grabbed the man's face, yanking him forward to meet his lowered gaze. "Say it."
"I understand," the man screamed out, his eyes wide with terror. "I won't fucking touch him, I won't! No one will!" His jaw set, grimacing as he struggled to convince Sinjir that he was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.
"Good boy."
Gingerly Sin set the man's hand down onto the floor. With his right hand, now spattered in thick flecks of blood, he patted the fallen man's cheek. "I hope we never see each other again," he said. Then Sinjir struck out with his fist, hitting just the right spot along the hinge of his jaw. The man's head struck the plastocrete and lolled to one side, his eyes rolled back beneath still, lowered lids.
Sinjir sighed. He pushed himself to stand, staring down at the splits in the skin over his knuckles. He shook his hand out, already feeling the bruises that would soon begin to show. He stepped over the prone body. Leaning down, he grabbed the broken holoreader, and slipped it into one deep coat pocket. Later he would see what secrets it held, what other names and faces he had to go attend. For now, he had a more cheerful task to do.
He pulled his own holoreader from his pocket. A slow smile spread across his face.
Dinner tonight? he sent. I'm thinking takeout & a holovidā¦