New Beginnings - pt.II

Mos Eisley, Tatooine.

Noxx sits and stares at the tiny treasure scattered about her on the mattress in wonder. The nav data alone is priceless for a tramp freighter or smuggler. Listing hundreds of worlds, many not on most charts and dozens of plotted routes that could allow her to shave hours off some of the key runs throughout the Rim Territories. The rest she needs to check into first. The credits where the biggest surprise. More credits than she has ever had at any one time in her life.
Quickly she pounces on her clothing, going through many different pockets in her coat and coveralls. When satisfied she has all her funds together she piles it on the mattress with the chips and coins from the case. Then she quickly counts it up and mentally converts it all to base credits. With all the assorted hard currency she had found and her own personal credit chip she had more just over 18K in credits. Her mind swam with all the things she could afford with it before her better sense reigned in those flights of fancy. Massive as it might seem to her now she knows she will need a lot more than this for any ship worth flying.
'Not enough for even a deposit, at least not yet.' She tells herself as she sticks the credit chips inside one of the small cases and an conceals her personal one in an inner pocket of her coveralls. The peggats go into a zipped pocket on the collar and the rest get tucked into various pockets of her coat as base spending creds, and hopefully decoy for the rest of her creds. The case with the chips and data modules all go back into the little green chest, now her most secure container for them. With the rest she should be able to afford transport to Corellia where she new more people she could trust for work. Granted most of the business in Corellia is controlled by one of several large organizations much like the Hutts control Tatooine, the conflict between the factions in Corellia allow a lot more juicy scraps for independents than Tatooine. Her mental plan is beginning to become clearer.
For the first time in her memory Noxx is completely alone and surprisingly she is not so much scared as...... nervously eager. She jumps up and starts stretching and flexing her entire body with quick, fluid motions. Own of her favorite moments of the day is always her morning exercises and working all the kinks out of her muscles and get the blood flowing. Today she is impatient and finds herself rushing through them faster than usual.
Finished she cleans up and pulls a thinner bodysuit, more suitable to the climate, on before donning her coveralls, boots and gloves. Then comes the weapons belt with bolstered truncheon balanced by her modded Model 53 in it's custom holster. Both bolster and holster also getting strapped to their respective leg to allow ease of running. This is followed by five minutes of compulsive fussing to ensure everything sits right and her figure is completely obscured. Once sure she pulls on her coat, steps out of the small room and secures the door. Leaving the duffel makes her a bit uncomfortable but it's safer in the room and she had the place for another 18 hours. Whatever the outcome, her business on Tatooine should be finished before then. 'I hate this dustbin of a planet' Her mind chants as she steps onto the street.
It doesn't take long to find the more infamous Mos Eiesley Cantina. Her first indicator was the dead Dug in the middle of the street and the lack of concern the of the passing traffic. Technically this was outside of Hutt turf and FGTU's claimed juristiction around the spaceport. It made this part of the city a very dangerous place to visit but also the best place to look for smuggling work. If she's lucky she just might get payed to fly straight over to Corellia, or at least closer. She ignores the dead Dug but not the sentient scavengers now stripping him of everything. While keeping her distance and popping the safety strap on her Model 53, just in case, she moves past them and down the street. She approaches the entrance to the Cantina with a lot more trepidation than when she started out but doesn't hesitate or pause. Pushing the door open and entering into the cool smoky gloom of the Cantina as if she owns the place.

The loud cacophonous noise washes over her as thickly as the smoke rising from many of the patrons scattered throughout the Cantina. Without slowing she immediately sidesteps the large, and somewhat mangy, Wookie as it tosses some hapless drunk out the door. Continuing straight to the central bar while her eyes sweep over the patrons looking for familiar faces. Finding none on the way she takes an empty spot at the bar with empty seats on either side. It was almost impossible to hear over the band playing in the back, a repetitive fast beat dance tune so she is forced to waive her arm to get a bartender's attention.
A heavily scarred Nikto finally saunters over and leans in close enough to hear before shouting. “What you want.” in bad galactic and very little patience.
She drops a couple trugut's on the counter and shouts back. “Water, Clean.” Adding three peggat's she continues. “And some information. Looking for indie work, piloting. Who hear should I talk to.”
The Nikto shutters the nictating membrane of one eye looking at Noxx until she puts down two more peggat's before he sweeps them up and places a modest tumbler of water in there place. Leaning in even closer he shouts at her just as loudly as before. “Back booth behind the Wookie.” He jabs with a thumb to show her the mangy looking Wookie sitting alone at a table beside the band. In the shadows behind are several small booths with privacy screens. “Don't stare, Vrocha is... touchy about her fur.” He warns a little more quietly.
Almost in sync they both back up a step and turn without another word. Him back to the small holo-display behind the bar and whatever he was watching. Her taking her tumbler and strolling passed the sensitive Wookie and into the only open booth. She nods at the Wookie in passing but otherwise is more focused on the booth and the other customers, wondering who she might end up having to deal with. She still hasn't recognized anyone even by reputation, but, she reminds herself they hadn't done much business here in years. Once in the booth she makes sure she has as decent a view of the exits as possible. She leans back on the bench in a calculatedly casual posture, her right hand resting lightly on her blaster, to wait and watch. The tumbler untouched in front of her.
Thankfully she doesn't have a long wait before a Toydarian flies in followed by a short Weequay carrying more ordinance than Noxx, or even reasonable. Once inside the privacy screen sparks to life, blocking out the sounds and view of the Cantina.
Noxx can't help but stare at the Weequay's sheer number of weapons. Paired heavy blasters on his hips and at least three others under his robes. Other than this he is dressed in dusty coloured long robes over ragged dusty colored clothes and heavy reinforced boots. The Toydarian in comparison appears unarmed. She mentally writes the Weequay off as muscle and tries to ignore him. Turning her head to look at the Toydarian but still keeping the crazy in her peripheral she raises one eyebrow as she slowly removes her respirator mask and states firmly. “Let's not waste time. I do independent only, no major corps, no syndicates, no contracts. Looking for work as a pilot to fly into Corellia” She doesn't feel a need for pleasantries and guessing by the Weequay neither does the Toydarian.
The Toydarian makes a gravelly gurgle sound that she assumes is a chuckle. “Another Fringe runner, just like Hun eh?” He gives her another gurgling chuckle Noxx's surprised reaction. “Yes, I know Soom Hun. We did much business together before the Empire fell. Brusso I am called, he never mention me I bet. Bad blood after the fall, never talked after.” Brusso taps a broken tusk and chuckles some more before continuing in more serious tones. “I have heard of you too, good pilot but greener than snot. Hun held you back too much, too protective of you. Made you too cautious. I don't want a captain willing to dump at the first sign of danger.” He declares the last gruffly as his wings start flapping, ready to take flight.

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