Coruscant Underworld: Survival

[Ghev Dralin]

((Just a quick OOC note to start things off. Since the idea has been out there for a short while now, I decided to kick the Coruscant Underworld thread off. Hopefully, some more of our RP'ers will get involved, since this thread gives us all a chance to play the 'underdog' characters that normally never get a look-in))
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C-Section slums
Coruscant Undercity
2100 hours

The interior of The Rearing Ronto was a nightmare; had the Coruscant health authorities ever bothered to explore the undercity, this particular tavern would have been subjected to various decontaminations, and would likely have been demolished shortly after.
But the upper-city didn't much care for what went on beneath the transitionary mists, except for occasions when a Jedi would unexpectedly drop in on a mission, or when a wealthy Senator wished to conduct illicit business without drawing the attention of his peers. A wealthy Senator such as the one sitting at the bar, trying too hard to look inconspicuous.

Lance had spent some time studying the man; a Chagrian, blue skinned and imposing. The biggest give-away was his perfect, unblemished skin and horns. Even the obvious musclature of his frame was a tell-tale sign; even though it was possible to grow big and strong at these forgotten depths, the body retained it's gaunt, haggered appearance.
The Chagrian looked fine and healthy. For a moment, Lance had considered that the Chagrian may be a recent 'acquisition' of the undercity, exiled from above, or down on his luck. But the cut of his clothing said otherwise.

The Chagrian had a lot to learn. A few strategic rips in a finely expensive cloak wouldn't be enough to keep him from standing out; even the fact he was wearing a cloak was enough to draw attention to him. Or at least, the wrong kind of attention. Lance brought a durasteel finger to his chin, wondering how best to go about his art.
Don't think, just go with the flow, he told himself. He wandered over, and half-sat on the stool beside the Chagrian. The other being didn't register his presence.
"Y'know... I've seen a lotta people down here. Gotta say, I know mostly everyone who comes to the Ronto. Not seen you before though" he said, patting the Chagrian on the shoulder.
"I'm broadening my horizons" the Chagrian replied, in a clipped Coruscanti accent.
"Nice cloak, not too shabby. Must've set ya back a few creds" Lance said, running his fingers over the material.
"I stole the credits" the Chagrian said, shrugging Lance's hand away.
"Why not just steal the cloak?" Lance asked, aware he was beginning to irritate the Chagrian; that was a good sign. It'd make his work easier.

"Do you need something?" the Chagrian asked, nursing a full drink container between his hands.
"I haven't seen you take a sip of that Utoz all night" Lance murmered. "Not to your taste?"
"No, it's not" the Chagrian murmered, pushing it away.
"It's also not Utoz" Lance said. "It's Johrian whiskey".
The Chagrian looked at him, furrowing his brow. "What do you want, kid?" he asked, looking him up and down, lip curling in disgust at the trashy, torn, and small clothing Lance was wearing.
"Hmm... how about a few creds?" Lance smirked.
"Get lost, boy" the Chagrian growled, turning away.
"Fine" Lance muttered, walking away, followed by an Aleena wearing a strange ensemble, mostly comprised of discarded pilot equipment, cut down to fit his tiny frame.

Once they were outside, Lance turned to the Aleena.
"Okay, show me what you got" he said in Huttese.
"Why is it me that always does the work, Servo?" the Aleena asked grumpily, emptying his pockets into Lance's hands.
"Because you're so small, Praka" Lance replied, this time in Basic.
"I'm tall for my species" Praka replied indignantly, crossing his stubby arms.
Lance rifled through the pocketbook first, taking out the un-necessary items and pocketing them to dispose of later; robbing from the higher-class was risky business, but the burning of ID's and legal documents usually stopped any repercussions.
"Hey, look at this" Lance said, flashing the Republic ID he'd found inside. "Representative Kras Lorre, Champala" he read aloud. "Not quite a senator yet, then. Remind me to find out the Senator of Champala, might be able to squeeze a few creds out of him, in exchange for my silence".
"You always say that. Always acting like the big-time extortionist. You're just a thief, Servo" Praka chuckled, as the two began to walk away from The Rearing Ronto.
"I'm not just a thief" Lance said, swatting Praka ontop of his head. "I work in all sorts of trades. This is just my day job" he smirked.
"It's night, incase you hadn't noticed" Praka huffed.
"Day, night... what's the difference down here?" Lance asked, looking to the skies; the city above was, as ever, obscured by the thick mists that had come to define the cut-off point for civillians not wishing to enter the under levels.

"How much was he carrying?" Praka asked, yawning, as the pair stopped at the mouth of an alleyway.
"Erm... a thousand and five hundred in cred chips" Lance replied, emptying pre-programmed dataries into his palm. "750 each".
"Minus Tergo's commission, thirty percent" Paraka sighed. "Leaves us with 525 each".
"Still, better than nothin'. Besides, we don't have rent to worry about" Lance smiled, trying to keep his friend optimistic. "C'mon, lets see if we can top our income while the night's still young".
Lance grabbed Paraka by the arm and steered him toward another seedy bar, it's neon nameplate blinking on and off; The Golden Sun wasn't quite so golden, more like a star about to go supernova, just less spectacularly.
"You again..." said a snarling voice, and Lance felt himself being jerked backwards, his spine smashing into the nearest wall. Cringing, Lance looked around at his attacker; as he expected, he was staring into the drooling maw of a Trandoshan.

"Oh... hey Smiles" he winced, rubbing his back. The Trandoshan picked him up by his shirt, adding another rip to his collection, and pinned him to the wall. To his right, Lance could see Paraka in a similar situation, except it was an Ewok holding him in place. The sight was almost amusing, though Lance had heard tales of this particular Ewok. Apparently the furry little creature had a bit of a mean-streak, and a habit for getting into bar fights on Corellia. How it had ended up here in the undercity of Coruscant, Lance had no idea.
"Don't call me Smiles" the Trandoshan growled, struggling to pronunciate his Basic.
"But it's such a dashing nickname" Lance smiled, and the Trandoshan heaved him higher against the wall.
"The name is Scrack" the Trandoshan growled, throwing Lance to the floor. Lance rubbed the back of his head, and sat upright, looking up at Scack; unusual for a Trandoshan, Scack had grey-white scales and gleaming green eyes. To most people he was scary; even Lance found him terrifying, but years of working for Tergo the Hutt, and working the Crimson Corridor, had de-sensetised him.
"I still prefer Smiles" he said.
"Maybe you need a mechanical jaw to go with that arm, then someone can tighten the servo's in your face to make you shut up and listen" Scack snarled, kicking Lance back to the floor, and holding him down with his huge clawed foot.
"Okay, okay, I'm all ears" Lance coughed; he was surprised Scack hadn't crushed his ribs.

"Night after night I catch you stealing 'round here, Servo" Scack glowered, peering down at Lance with slitted eyed.
"No fair, you can't use my nickname if I can't use yours" Lance said; sometimes, he wished he could resist, but the beating would be worth it. Tormenting Scack had become almost a hobby.
"This is my turf. You been stealin' again?" Scack demanded, leaning down and hoisting Lance into the air by his shirt.
"Stealing? Nah... just appropriating a few essential ameneties for day to day survival" Lance said, with a casual air. Scack looked at him confused; another thing Lance loved about tormenting Scack was that long words confused him.
"Sounds like stealin' to me" Scack muttered, relinquishing his hold on the front of Lance's shirt, dropping the teenager unceremoniously to the floor.

"Maybe it is. Maybe we're working a job for Tergo, and he'd be mighty angry if we were late" Lance suggested, propping himself up on his elbows; he'd given up trying to get to his feet, since it just meant he had further to fall when Scack got violent.
"Tergo? But he don't operate these parts" Scack said, though he didn't sound too certain.
"It's upto you, if you wanna risk his wrath. Y'know, I heard he keeps one o' those Duracrete worm's in his basement, likes to encase his enemies vital parts in duracrete then throw 'em down there".
Scrack backed off a little. The ewok released Paraka, and hammered on Scrack's leg, chattering away in Ewokese, pointing randomly at Lance, then shrugging and growling; Lance found the growl slightly less intimidating than he should have.
"Get outta here" Scrack snarled at Lance. "Take the midget with you".

Lance stood up, and motioned for Paraka to follow.
"You know, I'm actually quite tall for an Aleena" Paraka said to Scrack as he walked on by, then jumped as the Trandoshan growled.
"C'mon Stubby, lets call it a night" Lance said, heading toward Tergo's warehouse.
"I told you I don't like that name" Paraka sulked.
"Y'think I like bein' called Servo?" Lance asked, patting Paraka on the head. The Aleena huffed out his chest, and tucked his small hands into his makeshift belt.
"Tergo doesn't have a Duracrete worm, you know that?" Paraka murmered.
"I know" Lance said, sounding as cheerful as usual.
"And Scrack isn't going to let us get away with using his territory for much longer".
"Smiles can keep his turf, I'm bored of workin' down C-section. Lets try somewhere new tomorrow".
"Oh, I can hardly wait" Paraka muttered, brushing Ewok fur from his clothes.

[Trenton Vinh]

As one goes deeper into the bowels of Coruscant, the stench grows thicker. The air gets damp, the walkways more claustrophobic. Like being swallowed by a colossal steel and stone beast.

He hated this place. He hated this world. But it was home.
Isn't home supposed to be a safe place? a place of peace and comfort?
It had been a long time since Jerod Conance had felt safe, or at peace.
Peace is about as common as a Mon Calamarian that can't swim.

Jerod skulked through the dreary, dark walkways of Underworld with purpose, his footsteps echoing off the walls and pillars nearby. Every few steps the garbage beneath his feet would crackle or crunch, revealing his location, but he was not hiding from anyone, nor was be trying to be stealthy.
Jerod pushed past a pair of scraggly teens, ignoring their half-hearted attempts to pickpocket him. He had nothing of value to steal, aside from his weapon.
The few credits he carried were concealed in the inner pocket of his long coat, something he wore everywhere he went. It was old, but still in good condition, and one of the few items Jerod allowed himself to own.
At least I can have ownership of such things. It used to be much different. So much different.

At twenty-nine, Jerod had lived through the excitement and wonder of the Galaxy. Having fought in the greatest of wars, he had seen many amazing things, but not anymore. He had retired young. Very young, but not exactly by choice.
Necessity. Its all about necessity. I just take what I need. Most strive for what they want, under the false assumption that they need it. So rarely do we actually need anything. Food, clothing, a soft bed. It doesn't even need to be soft. If one can sleep on it, than what more could one want?

He rarely read the holonets, but he was aware enough to know that he didn't need to remain down here any longer. He had spent years in hiding, when the entire Galaxy turned against him. But he did not return to the surface. He hated the Underworld, he hated the Abyss.
Abyss.
That's what many called it. The black hole of the Galaxy, more commonly known as the lower levels of Coruscant.
There were very few laws down here. When the Empire ruled, the Emperor had attempted to wrangle in some of the homeless and diseased that lived down in the dark, but they had met far too much resistance. The bandits and rag-tag gangs had fought them off effectively enough.

Jerod didn't fight anymore, unless completely necessary. Then again, rarely did anyone challenge him, he was too dangerous. Within days of him setting foot down here, the residents knew not to touch him. Most ignored him, like a crazy old man. Others worshiped him, like a prophet. Some hated him.
He had been a protector for a time, an investigator. Now, he was just another resident.
He hadn't bothered to try and put an end to the murder, theft, and other dark deeds that were common down here. He hadn't bothered because it was useless. Everyone was so used to the lifestyle that to try and change it would be to throw off an already unstable ecosystem.

We're all just finders and takers down here. One person finds something of value, another takes it. Someone takes it from the taker. Life goes on.

Jerod was sick of it. But he wasn't going to leave unless forced to. Not unless something drove him to the surface. He wouldn't fight either. If there was another war someday, as was so common in the Galaxy, he wouldn't bother enlisting. It was all so pointless. Just endless circles. The Galaxy was going in circles. As long as there are people living there will be people fighting. Killing. Murdering. No use trying to sever what cannot be cut.
Its just life.
The Galaxy was an abyss of its own. A much more open, spacious, but equally dark abyss. A cesspool for death and violence.
Most residents of The Coruscant Abyss looked up as if the upper levels were a kind of heaven, a utopia.

Perhaps someday, the Galaxy will look down at the Abyss of Coruscant, and realize what the true utopia is. A dark place, full of finders and stealers, where the balance is never rocked by war. The chaos down here is a peace in its own right. One that will perhaps never change.

Jerod didn't leave for that exact reason. Amidst the constant darkness, death, and theft, he had found his utopia. He hated it, he hated living in the shadows, beneath the millions of tonnes of concrete and steel, but he was glad to have his peace. Stability. Something the Galaxy couldn't take from this place, try as they might.

[Ta'hok]

Cassandra walked through the lower levels of Coruscant. Normally she would have been any place else but someone was insistent on finding her. Shadow Stalker had felt the disturbance in the force and spirited Cassandra and his misguided apprentice away. They had left Kyle in the care of Drynan on Tatooine but both knew it was a temporary fix at best. Though Kyle was still comatose at their departure they had a feeling he would wake up and the chase would be on again. Cassandra was so lost in thought that she didn't notice two pick pockets. They would have succeeded with an easy catch if Shadow Stalker hadn't been there. She was awakened slightly from her thoughts to gasps of pain and sounds of running. Stalker stood glaring at the pair's retreating backs, a blood stained knife in his hand.

She turned and continued walking noting that most people gave them an even wider berth. She knew that it was only because these people could sense when a killer was about. Her shadow had a tendency to exude an aura of unmerciful death and a good percentage of the beings down here were sensitive to such auras. If not then they could read the look of promised suffering in his eyes. No one else dared to tread closer to them for fear of upsetting her companion. She could feel he was on edge even in her present trance-like state. He was reacting to everything instead of cooling observing. He almost put a knife in an odd grey white trandoshan's back as the creature lifted a young human off the ground. Cassandra would normally have laughed at his edginess but she knew very well the danger she was in. Reputation could only grant so much protection in these dark places where news was passed from mouth to mouth instead of through the holonets. They continued passed the strange pair as they walked deeper into the Abyss of Coruscant.

[Trenton Vinh]

Jerod stepped through the doors into The Rearing Ronto.
He took a moment to look around at the mass of bodies, species ranging from Amani's to Zarian's.
He felt a trace of a smile cross his face, then a Bith came in the door behind him and nudged him forward with a long slender hand.
Jerod shuffled deeper into the cantina and made his way through the people to the bar. He was poked and scratched repeatedly by several exotic species' barbs, but none penetrated his skin, so he ignored the small twangs of pain and leaned forward onto the underlit bar table that stretched into a semi-circle against one wall, where one of the scruffy bartender's nodded to him.
Jerod nodded back and addressed the bartender by name, nodding as he spoke, "Wersking."
Wersking the bartender let a smile crack across his face as if he had just recognized Jerod and said jovially, "Jerod!"
The two exchanged an awkward hug, blocked by the bar table in between them. When they pulled apart, Jerod said, "Grab me a Chandrilan Brandy."
Wersking ducked behind the bar and came up with a half-cleaned glass of the drink, but Jerod ignored the smudges on it and took a swig. He managed not to flinch, but Wersking saw the look on his face and cocked a grin,
"That stuff is harder 'en durasteel."
Jerod nodded, then said, "I need a favor."
Wersking raised his eyebrows, waiting expectantly for Jerod to elaborate, his grin fading only slightly.
Jerod continued, "I need to make some cash. Any idea how I can make some credits?"
Wersking asked, "What for?"
Jerod shrugged, "Thought I would get myself a little place to call home. I'm sick of the hole I've been living in."
Wersking stared over Jerod's shoulder for a moment, thinking. Then he snapped out of his trance and said, "Yes! I know what you can do."
It was Jerod's turn to raise his eyebrows expectantly.
Wersking said, "Ever think of joining one of the Raider Parties?"
Jerod shook his head, a frown touching his lips, "Nope."

Wersking tilted his head, using a dirty rag to try to clean a dirtier glass. It didn't seem to have much of an effect, but he poured a drink into the glass and handed it to another customer anyway. He said, "They sometimes find some good things. An' the pay is steady. Someone with yer skills could be helpful."
Jerod glanced around anxiously. The way Wersking had emphasized the word 'skills' bothered him. But he was right. He would be helpful in finding things.
"What kind of things do they want?"
Wersking replied, "Medical supplies, salvageable materials. Anythin' 'at'll help the people 'at live down 'ere. Anythin' else you getta keep."
Jerod frowned and nodded, "Set me up with them?"
Wersking nodded, "The party tends to stop by here after they're done for the day. You'll know 'em when ya' see 'em."

Jerod thanked the man, tossed one of his last credit chips to the man, then turned away from him and watched the crowd, sipping his drink and waiting patiently for the arrival of the Raider Party.

[Ta'hok]

Cassandra continued down the street coming to a tavern. Had she been headed a certain place or direction she might have bothered with the name but she didn't really care where she went. She stepped quickly inside her footfalls light from years of thieving. Behind her Shadow Stalker continued to act extremely on edge. She decided she would talk with him when they got the chance. Their bubble of space seemed to have followed them through the door and caused those around them to give her more than a passing glance. Cassandra winced. Attention was the last thing she wanted.

The half circle bar-top looked like her best bet so she headed towards it and took a seat. One of the bartenders was talking to a customer further down but took enough time to hand her a drink. She smiled even though she was sure he wasn't paying attention to her. The glass looked filthy and she did dare bring it to her lips for fear of the diseases it might carry. Instead she sat there looking completely at ease and nonchalant. Internally she was trying to open a mental link with Shadow Stalker. It only took her a minute before she caved to frustration and lifted her right hand to tap her temple twice, a silent signal to her guardian that she wanted him to contact her telepathically.

Cassandra felt the link open, allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction before going back to examining her drink. As usual her shadow had only opened the link. Not a thought had been passed from him.
What's the matter with you? She demanded. She felt his anger pass through the link before he managed to gain control of himself again. A quick glance showed a flash of frustration in his eyes a testament to how ill at ease he was. Cassandra felt fear for the first time since coming here. What could have upset him so? Worry creased her own face as she dropped the link. Her shoulders hunched as she leaned further forward on the bar-top. Something was dreadfully wrong and it made her suddenly fearful.

[Trenton Vinh]

The Raiders came into a cantina within the hour.
Jerod had finished off a pair of drinks in the meantime, and had a rather lengthy conversation with an Ishi Tib podracer.
Jerod waved to the Ishi Tib as he left, then turned his eyes to the group of men and women dropping into seats around the bar.
They were a rowdy bunch, looking cheerful.
Wersking asked the leader, a tall dark-skinned Zabrak, "Good haul, I 'spect?"
The Zabrak nodded, then ordered a drink with his fellow Raiders.
A few minutes later, Wersking had convinced the Zabrak (with a few free drinks thrown in) to give Jerod a chance at a job.
The Zabrak told Jerod to meet them outside the bar the next morning, where they would meet and head out on an expedition to the pits.

The Pits was a group of garbage pits that spanned a dozen kilometers each. The Raiding expeditions would carefully search these pits for anything of value. Anyone could raid the pits, but it was dangerous. Aside from the gangs of murderous criminals, there were Cthons, the zombie-like humanoids that resided in the darkness of the undercity for thousands of years, which genetically changed them into terrifying creatures that became the subject of countless horror stories and nightmares. They would feed on flesh, and came in small or large groups.
The Hawk-Bats and other scavenger creatures that lived near the Pits were always a danger as well.

Jerod nodded and shook the Zabrak Raider Leader's hand and the Zabrak introduced himself as 'Kurrn'.
Jerod said, "I'm Jerod, good to meet you Kurrn. I'll see you in the morning."
Kurrn smiled, nodding his horned head and said, "Bring a blaster...you may need it."
Jerod nodded darkly. He had seen too much death in his life already, and didn't want to see more. But he was low on credits, and this looked like a good way to make some cash.
Kurrn said, "Wersking says you have some kind of gift for finding things. That good things seem to happen to you. Maybe you're one of them Jedi's, ah?"
Jerod smirked and shrugged, "Maybe."
The Zabrak left, leaving Jerod feeling nervous. The dangers he would be facing tomorrow was not something he looked forward to.

Wersking looked at Jerod carefully and asked, "Yeh got a blaster?"
Jerod nodded, opening one side of his jacket to show him the Headhunter Slug-Thrower Pistol that he carried everywhere he went.
It was a well-crafted weapon, extremely effective at close range. It was able to hold a good few rounds in each clip, and Jerod carried an extra five clips in his inner pockets just in case a firefight broke out, which was a much more common thing than he liked.

Wersking nodded appreciatively, letting out a small whistle and asked, "When did you get that?"
Jerod frowned, "I've had it since the Empire fell. A smuggler gave it to me after I helped him find his cargo, it was stolen by some thugs and taken down here."
Wersking nodded, "Awfully nice of yeh. Need a place to bunk for the night? I can keep yeh here if yeh want."
Jerod nodded, "Thanks, sounds good."
Wersking dropped another glass onto the bar and filled it with a dark liquid, pushed it to Jerod and said, "Its on the house. There's another one waiting for yeh when yeh come back alive tomorrow."
Jerod smiled, looking at the floor. Wersking and him had been close friends for several years, and while they never really openly admitted it, both always looked forward to seeing one another every day.
Jerod sipped the dark liquid and frowned, "Not bad."
Wersking grinned brightly before going to tend to the other customers.

[Ta'hok]

Cassandra watched the raiders come in and grimaced. She knew she'd stand out if she continued to leave her drink alone. Slowly she began taking sips and by the time they left she was become slightly inebriated. Her eyes were becoming slightly unfocused her mind drifting back through all that had happened to her. The Raiders left and Cassandra stood making her way slowly along the bar towards the man the Zabrak had talked to. She plopped slightly ungracefully into the stool next to him as if her knees had caved. "Hey," she said in a manner of introduction.

Shadow Stalker wanted to hit her or something. How could she not have seen the weapon the man was carrying? Not just the fact that he had such a weapon but also the fact that those hands knew how to use it effectively. At the same time he wished that he could smack his own head or pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. But to do so might show possible weakness and here was not the place to do such things. He would just have to hope Cassandra didn't spill anything important while she was drunk.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" she could see the surprise and unease on her new companion's face. "S'Okay I won't hurt you. Not like he did to me. That stupid Jon. How could he? He just up and leaves me without saying a word. Does that mean he doesn't care about me anymore?" Cassandra looked blearily at the man her head starting to tip towards the counter just a little.

[Trenton Vinh]

Jerod frowned as the woman sat down next to him. He tossed her a glance and responded, "Hiya."
He took a sip and when she asked if he thought her beautiful, he didn't respond.
She went on about some Jon guy and he didn't pay her much attention.
He answered, "I'm sure he cares about you. He probably just...needs time. Or something."
He shrugged, tossing back another drink. He was slightly tipsy himself, she seemed to be drunk. He frowned, and assumed it was an act for now. He didn't think she had drank too much, but he hadn't been paying any attention. Maybe she was just a lightweight.
He sighed and slouched in his chair. He would have to wait for the bar to empty out before Wersking could show him to his room. It would be a bit of a wait.

[Ta'hok]

"Time? Yeah. Maybe that's it. He needs time." She lifted her hand to the side of her head. Her vision was getting worse and things were starting to spin just a bit. "Do you think I should go after him?"

[Trenton Vinh]

Jerod frowned. This woman was far too drunk, and it wasn't smart for her to talk to strange men in bars in the lawless undercity of Coruscant.
He looked at her carefully for a moment, his eyes piercing her, as if reading her mind, "I think...that you should do whatever you like. Your destiny will either push you two together or continue to drive you apart."
Wersking, who had just served a Neimoidian some foul-smelling drink, frowned at Jerod. It wasn't often that Jerod would say anything remotely philosophical.
Jerod shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Wersking tossed down another drink, this one non-alcoholic. Jerod thanked him and took a sip.

[Ta'hok]

"Do what I want?" Cassandra found she couldn't think very clearly through the drink in her system. "Yeah, I need to find out what I want..." She stood and would have fallen if her dark companion hadn't been there to catch her.

Stalker turned his eyes towards Jerod a curious light in them. Most people wouldn't have really listened let alone try to share some friendly advice. He turned his attention to Wersking opening a telepathic link with the bartender to allow him to communicate although the man would think he was hearing an actual voice.

Where are the nearest rooms? I doubt I'll be able to take her very far in this condition.

[Trenton Vinh]

Jerod only nodded at the drunk woman's ramblings. He wanted to get some rest.
"Wersking. I'm going to head up to one of the empty rooms."
Wersking seemed distracted, and handed a key to Jerod without looking at him, than handed another key to the drunk woman.
He stood up from his chair and retreated through the doorway behind the bar, rubbing one eye tiredly.
He climbed a creaky flight of stairs and found his room on the second floor. Room 7. He unlocked the door and closed it behind himself, sliding the lock shut.
He collapsed onto his bed, and immediately felt sleep begin to take him.

[Ta'hok]

Stalker slid a few credits across the bar top towards the bartender in exchanged for the key. They followed after Jerod at a reduced pace. He was practically dragging Cassandra who was so drunk she could barely stand. Stalker patiently continued until they finally got to the second floor entering room 10. Stalker helped Cassandra into the bed before checking the window. Satisfied that it would not be easily opened from the outside he left the room and began pacing the hall. He couldn't shake this feeling of dread that had been continually with him. He knew it wasn't related to their location because it had been there since before they arrived on coruscant. No this had something to do with another matter. But what? They were close enough to the Jedi Temple, maybe he should go there and see if he could get some help. Stalker was so on edge he ended up staying awake the entire night. Morning found him still in the hallway, having only taken a few breaks to look in on Cassandra. He felt tired but knew he couldn't sleep.

[Trenton Vinh]

Jerod awoke early in the morning. He washed and dressed, tossed his dark jacket over his shoulders, slipping his slug-pistol into its holster. He took extra time to check the weapon, to make sure it was in good condition before the day began.
When he went downstairs, the bar had not yet opened. Wersking was sitting at one of the scattered tables, counting his tips from the previous night. He had a grin on his face, obviously he had done quite well.
He looked up when he saw Jerod and smiled more widely, then motioned for him to sit at the table.
Jerod complied, dropping into the chair across the table from his friend.
Wersking said, "Wait here one second."
Jerod nodded, watching as the man got up and went behind the bar. He returned a minute later with a small plate of Coruscant snacks, a pair of glasses, and some Coruscant Brandy.
The pair ate some of the snacks and conversed for a bit, sipping the brandy.
Wersking called it a, 'Last meal' for Jerod, who would be risking his life at the Pits.
Both men smiled and joked and laughed, but under the surface both were tense and weary of the day ahead.
Both knew the dangers of the Raiding parties. Both had seen the groups come back with the looks on their faces that showed that something terrible had happened to one or more of their group.
Jerod was determined not to get killed, but it wasn't exactly something he would get to choose.
Then, there came a knock on the locked double-doors of the cantina.
The party had arrived.
Jerod got up and thanked Wersking for his hospitality. The two men hugged, clapping one another on the shoulder, and Jerod left swiftly, his jacket billowing behind him as he walked.
The party was outside, Kurrn leading them. The Zabrak looked like a warrior. His black gear was dirty and ravaged, and he held a power blaster carbine in his hands. He nodded solemnly at Jerod, and said, "Ready to go?"
Jerod nodded, looking around at the other members of the Raider Party.
There was over a dozen of them, men and women of various races, all residents of the Underworld.
They all were here with the same goal in mind: To make the lives of the residents in the Abyss easier. If it was by finding discarded medical gear, weapons, anything that would help. The items were then given out to Residents every few weeks.
Some of the items were sold to Junk Dealers in upper Coruscant, and the money went to paying the party members.
The group set out towards the Pits, where the day would soon get much more dangerous.

[Ghev Dralin]

Lance awoke, stretching out and smacking his lips, his bones stiff.
He faintly remembered the previous night... a party in Tergo the Hutt's home, full of the usual suspects.
Black Sun operatives looking to extend their reach through the underworld had come to spend some time with Tergo, and eventually everybody had become so intoxicated through alcohol, drugs and the Hutt's dancers, that all deals had been forgotten.

He stood, and looked for his clothes, suddenly aware that he was stripped down to his underwear. He didn't care what had happened, but he'd woken up alone, so he doubted it was anything too demeaning.
"Oh look, the one-armed demon finally wakens" Praka said drily. Lance grunted in response, looking under Tergo's dais, wondering if his shirt had disappeared under there.
"Here" Praka snorted, throwing a bundle at Lance. "You asked me to look after 'em. Well, you actually threw 'em at me" the Aleena grumbled, perching himself on the dais, to bring him up to Lance's height. "I just took the initiative, and assumed you wouldn't like waking in your skivvies".

Lance slowly pulled on his clothes, stretching out his cybernetic arm. The servomotors whined, and Lance sighed, running his finger along the ring that connected the limb to his severed elbow.
"Soundin' a bit shabby. Gonna have to pay a visit downtown" he smirked, patting Praka on the head. He knew the little alien hated going into dangerous parts of the underworld with Lance, mostly because the thief couldn't resist getting his hands dirty, prosthetic or otherwise.
"Fine, but we're avoiding the Pits today" Praka scowled. "You know they don't like it when we steal their stuff".
"So we won't get caught" Lance laughed. "Besides, Kurrn likes us. I'm sure of it".
"That would explain why he tried shooting us last time. Repeatedly. With a carbine. Or did you forget?" Praka scoffed.
"Well... I expect that was just... the Zabrak way of saying goodbye" Lance suggested.
"Yeah, permanantly".