Non-Playable-Characters

The force moved through the planet, its silent and still eddies becoming rushing streams of power. Stained power, corrupted power, and to everyone it touched, it whispered. The sick and dying screamed and shouted at their dreams of terror and those who had not yet succumbed could feel their hope recede, and the voices that one normally suppressed as a conscience, spoke almost audibly in their ears. “Kill yourself.” And some did. And those that did not waited for the voices to speak again, seeing some divine revelation in the whispers. It was the darkside, and it drove some mad. Rebel Alliance peacekeeping medics, having newly come to the planet were not immediately susceptible to such voices, but they creeped on the edges of their subconscious. And to the Jedi Knights, they could feel the visceral stirring of the force. A directed stirring. And the unnamed evil sought them out. With every tap into the force, the voices found a path in. ___________________ For those in the Village of Antra-Xerxi, life had evolved in a different way. The plague had hit heavy here, leading to the death of the majority of the adult population. Their bodies still lay rotten where they had fallen, slowly eaten by the jungle predators and scavengers. And those that were not, were burst upon the ground. Their bodies the victim of the jungle heat and gases of decomposing organs. But for the children of the village. The voices had protected them. Guided them to the fire. And when the voices spoke, they danced. A dance of death. A dance of passion and unguided rage and mirth. Their feet could not sustain them for much longer, and the circle was wet with blood. But still they danced, driven by the possessing force. A danse macabre.

“Watch-” The rest of the communication faded into static that blasted through the cockpit’s speaker system. That singular star, once a small pale and shaded thing, now bloated to a hundred times its old size and a deep ruby crimson, began to tremble visibly along its outer edges. It had happened a hundred times before, but those staring through telescopic lenses from the surface knew it all too well. A mass coronal ejection was going to take place, and Gods alone could save those about to make the corridor. Unless they could harness the force itself, their ships would be heavily damaged. It was a small ejection, and the crimson fire it spat out towards the ships was almost malicious. As was everything about Mithras.

Static burst from the comm panel of the hired vessel. Waves and pulses of static that the computer struggled to process into any intelligible sound. Eventually, ten or so seconds late, a lonely voice could be distantly heard through the mass of static. “Republic...Expeditionary....Arch...Land.” One of the three evacuation transports punched through the static with the clear voice of its own captain. “Jedi! Finally, we were sent to evacuate this archaeological site, but the pulses from the star are cutting us off. Conveyor tried and well not even her escape pods made it. Ripped to shreds and dashed on the surface of the planet. We need to go as soon as possible.” Could the Jedi guide the transports in? Would they go in one at a time or all at once? ___________ We are nearly to the Antichamber. Gods preserve us, we need to hurry.

Oh ye wild storm. A thunderous blow was struck against the hull of the IDS Conveyor, refugee transport, one of the old Orion boats from the Old Republic. The gravitational distortion tore the back out of the old vessel, and the transport shuddered in the upper atmosphere before coming apart at the welded seams. A thousand lives were snuffed out as the old ship broke apart and fell in ruins among the old city. No great fires burned from the fall of the Conveyor. Save what fuel remained to burn. For the city had long ago been ravaged by fire, and all that remained were the bleached marble skeletons of great buildings and statues. \ But for those on the surface of the damned world, they knew that the escape corridor had shrunk again. Oh ye thunderous storm. And below, in the old diggings, Doctor Etralian worked away.

Damnation! Or at least that is what they say about our sorry planet. Some say it is the wrath of God, or perhaps the force itself, but the fact still remains. Death has become Felucia. It walks like an old woman through the streets, knocking on some doors, passing others by. In those houses in which she visits the children pass first. Great boils along their lymph nodes, then like a cancer, it spreads through their bodies. Ending in the lungs where it brings a frothy red sputum. It effects immigrant and Felucian the like. Humans die faster than us, but perhaps it is a blessing. May the force protect us. -Writings of Doctor Kildarn. Published to holonet livejournal. Two days ago. Nothing has been heard from since. ________________________________________________________________________________________ ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARD ZONE PROCEED AT CAUTION

Environmental Hazard Plague Planetary System Felucia Pathogen Based Extremely contagious Bacta Ruled Ineffective System is Quarantined

Wake up Rand opened his eyes, sitting up in his bed and turning off the alarm on his clock. Another day. He went through the motions that were so familiar, showering, brushing his teeth, eating a small bowl of cereal, dressing for work...the ride to work was the same as it usually was, carpooling in Jessika's speeder, Kurt and Jaret playing their obnoxious Bith music. It didn't matter much to Rand though, it was just the same old dog and pony show, a processional march into the inevitable sunset. Work was the same as it always was, sitting at his cubicle coding programs for clients that would pay the firm an exorbitant amount, and of which Rand might see a pittance. But, it paid the rent. So he never thought about it, he just kept typing on in cubicle 324 on the 13th floor of building 1337 located in megabloc 42 of the Coruscanti northern business sector. That was how it had been, how it would continue. When he got home, Rand would fix himself some dinner, usually a sandwich or some soup, and flip on his favorite holonet shows, then go to sleep afterwards. Wake up Rand opened his eyes. Shut off the alarm, showered, ate, dressed for work. Carpool, same smells, same traffic. Work. Typing endlessly, compiling code. Thinking how to arrange things on spreadsheets, instead of what he wanted to do. Had to pay the rent, after all. Get home, dinner, holonet shows. Sleep. Wake up Eyes open. Alarm, shower, food, clothes. Carpool, crappy music. Work. Typing, focused on mindless code. Gotta pay rent. Home. Dinner, shows. Sleep. Wake up The days had become a blur. Rand was thirty-something, it didn't really matter. He had a warm bed and food. That was what mattered, right? Many beings would envy where he was in life. Many didn't even have food. Like his mom always said, there were starving kids on Dathomir. He was blessed. He was comfortable. He was right where he should be. Right? Right. Wake up And then one night, something crashed through his bedroom window. Rand awoke with a start at the loud noise, jolting up as a sharp shiver shot up his back. The outside air was cold, and it bit at him as he got up, careful not to step on the shards of glass. Something sat on the floor among the fragments, a sort of duracrete-looking brick, but one that had been painted. A cardboard fin was loosely taped to one side, and the thing looked like a rudimentary spaceship of some kind. Rand looked up, seeing two small horrified faces, a Human and a Twi'lekk child, dressed in silly clothes, one wearing a bucket with a face cutout, the other a speeder bike helmet. As soon as they realized they'd been spotted, they scampered away, taking refuge in a nearby cardboard box sitting in the alley outside his apartment. Nearly an hour later, Rand had temporarily fixed his window, having cleaned the glass and blocked the hole with a piece of paneling he'd had lying around. He thought briefly about what happened, set the small spaceship on his nightstand, and went to sleep. Wake up Rand opened his eyes, and went to swat at his alarm, but his hand hit something hard and rough. He looked over groggily as his alarm continued to chirp angrily at him, seeing the duracrete chunk spaceship he'd put on his night stand the night before. For a moment, he stared at it again, before finally shutting off his alarm and hauling himself out of bed. Rand was tired, last night having really taken a toll on his sleeping habits. He dragged himself to his refresher, taking a shower, brushing his teeth, applying deoderant, and put on some underclothes before walking to his kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, staring through the door to his room at the 'spaceship.' That day, the carpool never showed up. Apparently, the office building he was at needed to be remodeled internally, a chemical having been found in the ceiling paneling that was a general health hazard to most beings. Of course, this 'vacation' wasn't a paid one, and work would resume in a few days when the remodeling crews were finished. Rand found himself sitting at home in the middle of the day, watching unfamiliar holonet shows, just...bored. It was an uncomfortable feeling. It was different. Eventually, he sat on his couch holding the duracrete ship, studying it. It wasn't a skilled paint job, but he could tell that it was lovingly colored. He might even have some glue in his kitchen's junk drawer somewhere, and some paper... A few hours later, the ship looked amazing. Rand had touched it up quite a bit, sharpening lines with what markers and highlighters he did have, ensuring the fins he put on the tail section were good and secure. He caught himself smiling at the thing, it was silly and didn't really resemble any space ship he knew of, but it was still...good? He walked outside, and placed it on the box the kids had scampered into the other night, an old cooler box that had clearly been decorated and had "SPACE CLUB" scrawled on it in crude lettering. Rand set the ship in the box, then returned to his apartment. He was still exhausted from the night before, and took a nap. Wake up The next day, things seemed different. Rand began daydreaming, thinking about the ship he'd fixed for the kids. What if he had a real ship? What would it be like, sailing among the stars? His whole life he'd spent on Coruscant, his parents had never left, his grandparents...come to think of it, his great-grandparents on his paternal grandmother's side were the latest ones in his family tree to come to Coru. His whole family were cogs in the industrial machine. That kind of depressed him, but the thoughts of space travel, adventure, all of it gnawed at him. That day, Rand opened a new savings account with the bank of Coruscant. He might not have the means to currently achieve what he wanted, but now, at least, he had a dream, and that was worth shooting for, right? That day, the sky seemed a little bluer. He went back to work over the next few days, still working, still focusing on code, but now he did so with a fire in his stomach. He was a cog, true, but now he was a cog with a dream. Wake up

Jarret gunned the gas on his bike, the opaque helmet and flight suit hiding his identity from Hannah. He grinned to himself, knowing this would be fun. He didn't really intend to win, but he'd certainly make it look good for her benefit. He always liked to toy with her when they raced. Kron probably thought Jarret fully intended to smoke her, but Kron didn't know about him and Hannah yet. At least he didn't think. There's no way he would have set those terms otherwise. The signal flashed green. She was good, getting a faster start than he did, though that could have been because Jarret hadn't been completely focused on the race. As the wind ripped at them, and lights turned to streaks, adrenaline began to pump in his veins. He loved this, lived for this. At any moment, if either of them made a bad turn, or handled their acceleration wrong, it could mean their lives. But that also didn't matter to either of them. Speed meant freedom. Freedom was life. Behind them a distance, a slow coresec patrol craft hit its lights, but just as quickly shut them off, realizing there was no way to catch up with the far more maneuverable bikes. Freedom. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Next to him, Hannah was focused intently on the race, oblivious as to whom she raced against, her fiery orange lekku flapping in the wind. Occasionally the other biker pulled ahead, frustrating her and making her drive harder. She was going to embarrass Kron and prove she wasn't to be trifled with. Maybe even that she was 'worthy' to be with Jarret, though it wasn't likely. One way or another...she'd get what she wanted. She always did. He pulled ahead again with a maneuver on an inside turn, irritating her, though something was familiar about the maneuver, something only one other person had ever done...Jarret? She barely had enough time to react to the cargo truck that pulled out in front of them, swerving and breaking hard. There was an explosion, a bright flash of light, then... -------------------------------------------------------------------- Kron surveyed the race from high on the parking complex, tracking the two streaking lights between the buildings with macrobinoculars. It helped he knew their route, and he also knew where it would all end. If his brother had listened to him, everything would be taken care of. The two bikes disappeared behind a building, and there was the flash and fire of an explosion. Kron dropped the binoculars, smiling and turning to Azel. "It's done." -------------------------------------------------------------------- Over the next few days, Hannah faded in and out of consciousness. She saw figures clad in white standing over her, she felt various hoses and needled buried in her body, she felt the duracasts encasing and immobilizing parts of her, though she didn't have the energy or pain tolerance to move much. Jarret visited her sometimes, glowing and beautiful, always smiling. This was temporary, she knew. Everything seemed to be a blur to her, the sounds, the voices talking near her calling her just another adrenaline junkie. It was always hazy. Everything hurt. Jarret visited her again, still not speaking, just softly waiting. Nearby, a machine began to sound an alarm. White shirts rushed about. But Jarret was still calm. It didn't hurt half as bad as Hannah expected. But as she stood with him, and the white shirts stopped making such a fuss, he held her close. Nothing would keep them apart ever again.

The next day: The streetlights slowly flicked on, one by one, traffic on the streets of Corellia calmed and slowed, and the daylight faded. Night was a time that true predators came out and hunted, and Hannah Xeros counted herself among that population. She rode her hoverbike slowly, not wanting to attract the attention of the CoreSec night patrols. Not yet, anyways. The bike itself looked like a junker, but the trained eye would easily be able to spot a handful of upgrades that made the bike a mean son of a gundark when it came to just about any feature. Hannah had built it that way intentionally, finding it cheaper to simply keep it at top performance instead of looking amazing. As such, it tended to delude some of the newer racers in Coronet, making them think that the cute orange Twi'Lek with the beater bike would be an easy win. Most of the experienced racers left her alone, either out of respect from having lost to her once or twice, or simply just being uninterested in how she chose to make her money. Tonight, though, she hunted. It only took looking through a couple of the usual spots to find a parking structure with several beings wearing the colors of the Cohorts hanging about a couple bikes, and of course, Jarret was there, Azel hanging off his shoulder. Not to mention, the group was primarily Zabraki, with the odd Human or Weequay dotting the group, but they would never be full fledged members of the group, and were really only around for muscle. Almost like clockwork as she pulled up and dismounted, Azel spotted her first and sneeringly called out, drawing attention. "Well, looks like the little sewer rat decided to actually turn up for once! Wasn't hard to smell you coming." Amidst the laughter, Hannah grinned maliciously, clipping her helmet to the bike. "I'm sure it was just your upper lip, Azzole." The sneer on Azel's face dropped to one of pure rage as Hannah used the derogatory nickname, but Jarret held her back as she started to move forwards. One of the larger, more muscular Zabraki spoke up, stepping forward. Hannah knew him well, even though she despised him about as much as Azel. Kron, Jarret's older brother, was leader of the Cohorts, and a staunch Zabrak supremacist even though he didn't show his hate as outright as Azel tended to. Kron's voice boomed over the cacohpany, his deep rumbling bassoon voice carrying power. "So are we doing this, or what? The terms stay the same. We win, you never show your filthy face on our turf again. You win, and you can have one of our bikes. As if that's going to happen. You know the usual route." Kron was off his rocker for even agreeing to this, but Hannah had something to prove. She knew this was going to be an easy win, and she knew Kron probably suspected it, but one way or another, she'd get her trophy from them and show them up. She was sick of him getting in the way of seeing Jarret. Simply nodding, she began mounting back up, speeding off to the starting mark. After she left, Kron handed Jarret his helmet. "One more thing. Jarret, you're riding for us. Make her think she's going to win." There was a certain coldness in Kron's voice as Jarret slowly took the helmet, looking his brother up and down. After a moment, he was speeding off on his own bike, as the rest of the gang moved towards the top of the parking structure to survey the race. For a moment, Kron and Azel made eye contact, and Azel grinned. --------------------------------------------------------------------- Two bikes lined up at the starting spot, waiting for a traffic light to turn green, signalling the start of the race. It was the only law recognized by the racers. The only law.

Jarret stared at the ceiling, frustrated he couldn't simply fall asleep. There were too many things going on in his mind, too many stresses that wouldn't let him fall asleep. Beside him, Azel breathed softly, probably frolicking about in a comfortable dream. But Jarret had no such luxury. Not tonight. He checked his comlink once more for new messages, of which there were none, then grabbed a datapad to begin browsing his favorite sites on the holonet again to see if his sites had updated, which they hadn't. Nearly another hour had passed before Jarret was done with this, and still was no more tired than he'd been the whole night. He just couldn't stop thinking about the way things were. About her. Azel grumbled softly, fidgeting, having caught her horns on her pillow again. Jarret refrained from chuckling as he reached over, unhooking her gently from the loose woven fabric. He'd told her not to get the sheet set, Zabraks always had problems with them, but did she ever listen to him? Of course not. Softly, he allowed his own head to clunk back against the headboard, his own cranial horns forcing him to lean at an awkward angle that began to ache after a bit. Not as if he really cared, though. It was a minor annoyance in the sea of troubles. Slowly, he became aware of an itching sensation on his horns. Of course, it would happen now. It also explained why he'd been so sleepless. Checking to ensure Azel was fast asleep, Jarret rose from the bed as stealthily as he could, opening a hidden panel in the grungy apartment's walls, and withdrawing a small black box. Jarret fumbled with the contents, pouring one substance into a device that lit the powder with UV rays, before adding it with some liquid into a needle, and injecting the concoction into his leg in the old familiar spot. He managed to stow the contents and seal up the wall panel again before the spice began to wash over him, painting him in waves of ecstacy. He stumbled back to the bed, flopping down softly. If Azel woke, she would want some too, and Jarret was tired of giving her freebies. She was nothing more than a sponge, a parasite on his neck draining him dry. But she was hot, and a sister of Nerf-Trader Teng, an important gangster in the West End Cohorts, so he tolerated her. Even as the fake pleasure rolled across his body, tingling his every nerve with varactyl feathers, he still couldn't get her off his mind. If only things hadn't turned out how they did...even as he smiled, a tear rolled down the side of his face. This was how it was. This is how it had to be, or he'd just drag her down with him. He'd done it to everyone else in his life, and he'd be damned if he did it to her. Even though she still followed him like some kind of lost puppy, he'd need to drive her off, like he always had. High above the apartment building in the west end ghettos of Coronet city, the clouds parted in the sky, allowing the light from the twin moons to spill into Jarret's room, seemingly comforting him as he slipped into a deep but turbulent sleep. The next day would come all too soon.

"Fifteen minutes, Mr. Sprockets." The aide poked his head through the door, reminding Bendar Wondersprockets, Magician and Illusionist Extraordinaire, of the dreadful deadline he was on. He nodded, smiling weakly through his aged lip folds. Of course, Bendar Wondersprockets was hardly the Bith's real name, but it had been so long since anyone had called him by it that it might as well not have been his anymore, anyways. Behind him, Thak shuffled up, still working on getting into his assistant's costume. Thak was like most Gamorreans, loyal to a fault, but not very bright, and clumsy as the space lanes were long. He fidgeted in his chair, a length of rope from one of his acts in his hands, absentmindedly tying it into knotted forms and twists. "Thak...I need you to go get something from me. A trick hat. I've forgotten it in my room." Thak almost fell over as he turned suddenly at the request, still struggling to get his arm into part of the costume, and Bendar winced at his clumsiness. Squealing an acknowledgement, Thak just let the sleeve hang freely as he left the dressing room. As the door closed, a whisper escaped the Bith's lips. "I'm sorry, my friend. You must find your own path." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thak searched the room twice, but could still not find the hat Sprockets told him about. Feeling an urgency of time, he left the room alone, and began making his way back to the dressing room. It would probably mean getting yelled at again. But that was okay, Thak was used to getting yelled at. Even as a hogling growing up on Nar Shaddaa, Thak couldn't even get tasty food left out on open windows without getting yelled at. That was okay. Thak was just hungry. Sprockets knew that when Thak took some food from his room, but that was really just the first time Thak hadn't been yelled at. Thak wondered briefly if that was irony. Ironically, Thak was the perfect size to fit in Sprockets' magic sawbox. For some reason, people like seeing Sprockets supposedly saw Thak in half, then bring him back like nothing had happened. But it was a trick, Thak knew. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Over the years, Sprockets had come up with different and better tricks, but the audiences always got smaller, the applause quieter. Maybe it was because Thak wasn't a hogling anymore? Hoglings were cute. Most nice people liked hoglings. But Thak was big now. Now Thak helped Sprockets on his stage, handing him things that needed handing, and 'acting magical'. That's what Sprockets called it. Sometimes Thak tripped over himself. Thak actually did that a lot. Sometimes the audience laughed at Thak. Sprockets always yelled at him after for it, though. Recently, Sprockets needed to get money from bad guys, Dark Sun or something, and Thak was supposed to take a bag to a place and give it to a Dark Sun guy, but Thak forgot the bag when he stopped to get some food. Sprockets had yelled like he'd never yelled before, but it was okay. Thak had thick skin. He still liked Sprockets, and Sprockets would still like him. Thak reached the dressing room, taking a big breath before it was time to deliver the bad news. Then, he pushed the door open, and began explaining himself. <<Thak looked all over for the hat, Sprockets, but Thak can't find hat anywhere. Thak sorry. Thak really sorry, Sprockets.>> Sprockets didn't talk. His head was down, his body hung loose. Thak noticed his feet were off the floor, maybe Sprockets was trying a new levitation trick. Sprockets was always trying new tricks, and he'd always try them on Thak first. Thak loved when he did that. <<Sprockets hear? Thak no find hat.>> Thak poked Sprockets in the back, causing the Bith to sway from where he hung. Still no response. Suddenly, the nice stage aid opened the door again, poking his head in. "Five minutes until- OH MY STARS." Thak turned, grinning wide. <<Hello, Mr. Aide. Thak getting ready right now. We will be at stage.>> ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The aide quickly assessed the situation, knowing there was no time to do anything. There were several high-rollers in the casino that night, and if they weren't entertained, the casino boss would be pissed. Someone had to go on stage, and the idiot Gamorrean was already dressed for it, mostly. "There's no time. Just grab what you can, and come with me. You're doing this by yourself, or you're going to be made into sausages by the time this is all over." The giant pig picked up a few things, then dropped them, fixing his costume, picked them back up, and finally started following the aide. In moments, the aide had the Gamorrean positioned behind the curtain, and began announcing the entrance. "Ladies and gentlebeings, due to an unforeseen incident, there has been a slight change in venue. I give you, Truffles, the Gamorrean Magician!!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The curtain rose. The lights hurt Thak's eyes at first, as they always did. For a moment, there was laughter, mostly at the absurd announcement, but Thak didn't know this. Another moment passed, before Thak heard the aide whisper loudly at him from the side of the stage. "Do something!!" Thak looked around a moment, and realized he had a few things on him he'd used to help Sprockets. Sprockets wasn't here, but Thak knew the finishes. An idea came into Thak's head, slowly, but surely. He began to pull a line of small flags all tied together from his sleeve, grinning widely as he did it. Unsure as to what he was actually doing, those sitting in the audience were largely unimpressed, having no context of what was happening. <<Presto!>> Thak put on his biggest grin. Nobody clapped, which was unusual. He finished the trick exactly as Sprockets had shown him. Another long minute passed, and there was no applause, though a few people coughed. Well, Thak probably just needed to try something else. Dropping the flags on the stage floor, Thak held up a flat square thing, shaking it while at the same time removing from the hidden pocket some glitter concealed within. The glitter seemed to come from nowhere, but again, the audience had no context. <<Taa-Daaaaa!!>> Thak tried to grin even larger this time, but still nobody clapped. A few even got up, leaving the small theater, muttering about getting their money back. Thak didn't know what he was doing wrong, he hadn't even messed up once. He tried crossing the stage to the table where the rest of the magic props were, but forgot about the tied line of flags, and tripped and fell. Thak sighed, knowing this was a bad thing, but interestingly enough, the audience began laughing, lowly. Thak stood, tangled in the flags, and the audience began to laugh louder and harder. Thak paused a moment, before struggling to get the makeshift flag rope off himself, and the harder he struggled, the more hilarious it seemed to be. He even fell again, to uproarious chuckles and guffaws. Finally, he freed himself, and after pausing another moment, he posed, grinning wide. <<Taa-Daaaa!>> Thak had never heard such thunderous applause. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After the show, Thak sat behind the building on the steps of one of the emergency exits, an ambulance crew nearby that was scrambling to get to Sprockets. Apparently something had happened to him and Sprockets needed to go away for a while, to a place called 'Morgue'. Thak had never heard of that planet, but it was okay. Thak also knew he should start calling himself the name everyone else had already started calling him - Truffles. But there was time for that. The Gamorrean looked up into the night sky, the big blue eyes glimmering in the starlight. This was a beginning for Truffles. He could feel it. Everything was gonna be a-okay.

The casino was loaded. And by loaded, it didn't matter how many people crowded the floors, it didn't matter how respectable the establishment was, It didn't matter what the stakes were at the tables. No, Whitney looked around the casino, and noted immediately that the patrons were very, very wealthy. More than the usual street rats that Nar Shaddaa offered. Not crazy wealthy, like owned a planet kind of wealth, that was never a mark someone would go after, they always had their own private security team, and rarely frequented casinos. No, just that many of the beings were just wealthy enough to show it. Nice coats, purses, rings, timepieces, fancy comlinks...that sort of thing. The perfect kind of people for a person of her skill set to prefer to be around. The lithe Besalisk walked down into the casino proper, much more feminine and muscular than the fat male members of her species. Her fingers twitched on each of her four arms as her eyes darted about, identifying potential targets. Whitney's particular specialty was pickpocketing, aided easily in that by her larger form and the fact that most two-armed beings never paid much attention to the extra arms. Easy to distract anyways. The picking and sleight-of-hand was simple practice, the rest was know-how. Whitney had it in spades. As she walked, she bumped into a human walking the other way with the side of her hip, miming trying to move out of his way. It was subtle, but it worked. "Oh! I'm so sorry, sir, please excuse me!" The man grumbled a few curses under his breath, then continued on towards the refreshers, never realizing his banking card and comlink were no longer on his person. The palm was easy, the hide clean. The black dress she wore had several hidden pocketsWhitney allowed herself a slight grin as she brushed herself off, and continued her stroll across the floor. Eventually, she found herself in the high-stakes room, near the back of the crowd. She'd taken enough for the time being, and was simply biding her time, waiting for the casino security to relax a bit into the night shift. That was when she would leave. They may have had a few reports of missing items, and wanted to wait until the doormen were lax about scrutinizing the body scans of the patrons. Softly, but firmly, she felt something press into her side. She moved a bit, but it jabbed a tad harder, a gruff whisper in her ear. "" She understood the , but couldn't quite place the voice. It wasn't quite basic, but close enough. "" Whitney's stomach dropped. This was is then. She did as instructed, feeling whatever weapon the male voice had on her pull away as she was guided back out into the main casino. "Can I at least see who got me?" "" She slowly turned, finally getting a look at the Duro that was still closely escorting her. She could break him, her strong arms would be more than enough to overwhelm- which is when she recognized him. "Cid?!? What are you, how did you find me?" "" She was astonished. She hadn't seen him since... "Then...you still remember?" "" It was an enticing proposition, but not the one she was expecting. "That's...that's not what you promised..." Cid grinned, smiling with small teeth. Slowly, he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small box. "" Whitney nearly carried him off out of the casino. It had turned out to be a very good night indeed. The patrons might have been a good crowd for marks, but she had finally caught the one mark that she'd waited her whole life to score.