Chapter Text
Clutching tightly to the little hand in yours, you stride purposefully along a darkened alleyway, home primarily to one of the more reputable gambling alleys. Ord Mantell was the pride and joy of the Bright Jewel system, a trading post frequented by intrepid travelers, smugglers, and tax-evaders alike. That is to say, it was by and large a pit of depravity masked by the glow of phosphorescent parlor lights, tinkling glasses, and raucous laughter. Your eyes set on a carefully metered swivel, ears perked both to catch the musings of your young companion as well as to gage how exactly how much interest the little clusters of "tourists" have in you both as you pass by. To the casual observer, you look all the world like a mother and child heading back home after an oddly long day out. Given your stature, perhaps an older and younger sibling was more plausible. You shift the child's grasp to your far hand as you cross the street, tucking her towards the wall as you approach your residence block. She takes this in stride, rattling on about her daily happenings.
You had become well accustomed to this routine by now, adding thoughtful "Hm?" 's and "Oh really? How about...." 's at all the appropriate times as you travelled the streets together. Her brashly friendly nature had been a welcome surprise the first time you had met the kid, and she had only warmed to your further as time went on. This walk was well familiar to the both of you now, and she was quick to let go of your hand and bound to the lift doors as you swiped your key card to unlock them. It wasn't the nicest corner of the galaxy, but you'd certainly had less trouble getting home safely as of late. It hadn't been impossible per-se to make it in unmolested previously, but that was thanks in no small part to the elderly Rodian who lived two floors up and had a penchant for taking pot-shots at unfamiliar faces that lingered in the shadows too long.
You never asked about her previous line of work, even after watching her carefully shoot the ear tips off of a particularly unpleasant spice dealer who had been coming through the area a little too frequently. Afterwards however, you took care to exchange pleasant greetings and drop off a fruit or two any time you found some fresh at the market.
Likewise, she never asked much about you or your business. Certainly, none of the other inhabitants had asked questions even amongst one another after you had brought around the other deterrents keeping things a little quieter around your stoop.
Ironically, you'd been put in touch through one of the sleaziest beings you'd ever had the fortune to meet, and you'd travelled to more systems than most moon-dwellers. You owed a favor, and to your misfortune that favor was in credit to someone who in turn owed a favor elsewhere.
That was how you found yourself standing in the doorway of a middling parlour several standard months previously. The summons came as they usually did from Cid; brusque and at an unloving hour of the night. You had time only to ask half of a question before the Trandoshian had barked over you and disconnected;
"It's a clean job Miss Prim. Just get over here!"
Taking a moment to shoulder your pack, you straighten up and roll your shoulders to square them. You weren't exactly the most physically imposing for-hire hand out there, but intimidation wasn't one of your skillsets anyways. You had long since taken to quietly exuding the impression of capability through mannerism, bolstering it as you could with clothing and confidence .
As such, you stride through the autodoor just as if it's the front door to your dwelling, thumbs in jumpsuit pockets and head high. Casting a languid gaze through the half-light coming off of the dejarik tables, Cid is easy to spot behind the bar, but the sight of the group she's speaking with lowly causes your heart to sink, your carefully held facade to falter for a moment, and breathe to hitch in your throat.
One of the three forms clad in what can only be trooper armor, painted a dim black, turns their head uncannily in your direction. They must have just heard the whoosh of the doors over the din of regulars. You can't even take a moment to shuffle down a swell of disgust, having no choice but to glance directly down their red-striped visor as you approach the cluster, turning your gaze to the proprietor of the establishment.
"How nice of you to join us." Cid wasn't much for pleasantries, and you only feel your annoyance tick up all that much more at her snide tone. You flash your most charming smile at her in retribution, knowing full well the passive aggression was not lost on her as you rest your side casually against the edge of the bar top. Nodding a bland greeting in the direction of the plastoid-clad group, you lean in towards Cid and murmur.
"Before we discuss any future business, there is a small matter to sort out in regard to a mutual friend of ours."
The friendly tone masks the agitated pace of your heart, beating incrementally faster and faster as you stew over the fact you've been dragged out of bed to work a job with a group of lowlifes dressed in armor likely pilfered from some battlefield.
"It's settled, nothing else due following the completion of this job." Cid says with a wave of her hand.
"Oh, no, that we knew. There's just a few more details they wanted me to go over with you. It won't take more than a minute, shall we head to your office?"
Straightening without waiting for a reply, you flash an apologetic gesture to the masked group and head briskly towards the back room. You just catch deep, slightly disgruntled, murmurs carrying through the air, filtered through their helmets as Cid follows cursing you under her breath.
"This better be fast Foxy, I'm paying per minute on the docks!"
It took everything in you not to turn immediately and stride back out onto the street, cheeks flushing indignantly at the cursed nickname as you wait for her to languidly catch up and wave you back into the office.
Crossing her arms as she leans back on her desk, Cid scowls.
"You got some nerve coming into my place and walking me into my own backrooms. Spill it."
Your fists clench and you drop all pretenses of civility, baring your teeth as you hiss back.
"Where'd you find these ghouls? Really, looted Clone armor? You must have the same nerve to ask me to go running something with this lot."
"I've got a debt owed, however roundabout, by you. And you'll pay it." Cid hisses back. "You'll pay it by getting this score, because Keeper knows they won't make it without you. We're only having this conversation as a personal courtesy."
"It's a personal courtesy that I'm even staying to ask."
In a blink-and-you'll-miss it moment, her face softens fractionally. "They aren't carting anything unsavory. I told you, it's a clean job." The sharp tone is back and her slit-pupil eyes rake over you as she leans forward, back to business again. "If you don't kill eachother, maybe you'd be interested in picking up more work with this lot? There's a lot of potential there, they don't do in and out jobs REAL well, and I've had more demand than I can meet for that kind of work."
You aren't convinced to say the least. The initial rush of distaste the sight of a fascimille of a squad had elicited has faded and you scrub a resigned hand over your face. The promise to be clear and free from even this little tie to Cid, at least for some time, was irresistible.
"I'll return the favor owed." You snip.
"That's what I thought." Pressing an intercom button on her desk, Cid walks around to settle in her chair, pulling a glass and a bottle out of a drawer. "They'll join us in here, it's bit crowded tonight to talk work up front anyways."
With a resigned sigh, you set your pack at your feet and lean against the wall, folding your arms casually.
"Ten patrons is a crowd these days? The Empire really must be cracking down."
That barb is ignored as the door opens and the three unknowns stride into the room. Surprise further quells your discontent as the one with the red stripe down their helmet pulls the piece of armor in question up and off, and despite the long hair and bandana framing it, you find yourself looking at the side of what cane only be the most recognizable face in the galaxy. The clone spares you a sideways glance, carefully metered, before turning his attention to Cid.
"What's the job?"
It was to be a simple retrieval of goods caught up in an Imperial checkpoint. The key item in question being an encrypted datastick. As Cid laid out whatever sparse details she had, the other two armored figure had removed their own helmets, allowing you to surrupticiously study their faces as well.
They were as unmistakable in origin as the long-haired clone, but they were the most unique troopers you had ever seen. You'd come to know a few over the course of the war, and seen enough in passing to know they often distinguished themselves from one another with tattoos and modifications to their hair and armor. The armor on this lot was certainly distinct, but so were the modifications on the one so slight and pale you thought he really ought to sit down. The third trooper was an oddball on the other side of the spectrum
Head shaved clean with an artificial eye, he stood taller and broader than anyone you'd ever known. He let out a booming laugh as big as he was as Cid finished her briefing, saying;
"Stealth is key on this one, if you have an ounce of discretion and get out unnoticed payment will double. And you'll probably survive."
"Stealth's not really our thing, is it?" His voice was as deep as his laugh, but his smile was too young for the massive scar spanning half of his face.
Cid leaned back in her chair, gesturing to you with her drink.
"That's where this one comes in. You get her in, let her work, and extract. Unless you've got a better plan Dark and Broody?"
"That depends. How much experience do you have with this kind of thing?" You realized that Dark and Broody must be the one in the bandana as he turned to face you. His gaze was only made that much more intense by the half skull that decorated his face. The scrutiny didn't phase you, you were truly strangers to one another and you were trying to appear somewhat unassuming as it was part of the trick. This group certainly hadn't obtained their plastoid through gruesome means, which put them in a slightly higher bracket than you had initally awarded them, but current circumstances didn't put them at the top of your warm and fuzzy list.
You can only hope your languid smile comes across as nonchalant, flicking your eyes away from the trooper and over to Cid.
"Oh, enough times to know to ask exactly what's on this datastick."
Cid waves your unvoiced concern off.
"Leaked supply dockets, Imperial shipyard records. The officers don't know that of course, or there'd be no chance at getting it back. They think they've just got bootlegged holos. Our client was bright enough to do that kind of cover work at least."
She leans forward, tapping at her data pad.
"Lucky for you boys, I've got schematics. I sent 'em to goggles, so this should be a fast job right?"
The sentance is loaded with implication that, fortunately, does not involve you. The apparent leader of the bunch, the long haired clone, straightens.
"We'll get it done when we can. Now, if you have time in your busy schedule, we have a matter of our own to discuss with you...."
He had trailed off to shoot a pointed glance your way, but you weren't there to meet it. Already having scooped up your pack and turned, you motioned towards the hallway.
"I'll be at the bar whenever you're all done here."
"Stay off the Sabacc tables!" Cid called after you as you left, prompting you to scoff innocently at her over your shoulder.
Profit margins from the parlour were low you assumed, there was no need for you to infringe further on that and attract her ire.