Member
Plank Sinatra
DeadDrop(Collab with @Sep)
The smuggler in his Z-95 had just about finished his meal when his comlink began to chime. Tossing his garbage out onto the landing pad, Darton brought the comlink out of his jacket and checked the call signature.
He frowned, recognizing who exactly was calling. He straightened up in the cockpit, nestling his helmet between his knees and trying to make himself look as presentable as possible, just in case he had to flick on the hologram setting. Clearing his throat, he finally clicked the ‘answer’ button.
“Fanx here.”
A robotic voice answered. “Timana the Hutt demands your presence at once, there is a matter that demands your attention.”
He scratched his beard, momentarily contemplating. What could possibly be this urgent? Timana knew how busy his schedule was. Unless…
“If it’s about the rancor eggs, assure Timana that-”
“Timana does not rush such trivial matters. A planet under Hutt protection has recently been occupied, you are required to deliver a message to the would-be conqueror.”
Darton pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes.
Goddamnit.
He felt his stomach turn, hotcake within. This wasn’t how he thought this day was gonna go.
Composing himself, he returned his attention to the comlink.
“I will arrive shortly,” he said curtly, shutting the comlink off.
Basically, Timana wanted him to delve into enemy space firsthand, and make threats on behalf of the Hutt himself. Which would probably result in his head returning to Timana on a platter.
Well, it wasn’t the worst situation he’d been in. Not by a long shot. He shivered at the memory of-
Nope. Hard pass.
Centering himself for a moment, Darton strapped in to his fighter, helmet on, and keyed in the co-ordinates to Circumtore.
D A R T O N F A N X
The smuggler in his Z-95 had just about finished his meal when his comlink began to chime. Tossing his garbage out onto the landing pad, Darton brought the comlink out of his jacket and checked the call signature.
He frowned, recognizing who exactly was calling. He straightened up in the cockpit, nestling his helmet between his knees and trying to make himself look as presentable as possible, just in case he had to flick on the hologram setting. Clearing his throat, he finally clicked the ‘answer’ button.
“Fanx here.”
A robotic voice answered. “Timana the Hutt demands your presence at once, there is a matter that demands your attention.”
He scratched his beard, momentarily contemplating. What could possibly be this urgent? Timana knew how busy his schedule was. Unless…
“If it’s about the rancor eggs, assure Timana that-”
“Timana does not rush such trivial matters. A planet under Hutt protection has recently been occupied, you are required to deliver a message to the would-be conqueror.”
Darton pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes.
Goddamnit.
He felt his stomach turn, hotcake within. This wasn’t how he thought this day was gonna go.
Composing himself, he returned his attention to the comlink.
“I will arrive shortly,” he said curtly, shutting the comlink off.
Basically, Timana wanted him to delve into enemy space firsthand, and make threats on behalf of the Hutt himself. Which would probably result in his head returning to Timana on a platter.
Well, it wasn’t the worst situation he’d been in. Not by a long shot. He shivered at the memory of-
Nope. Hard pass.
Centering himself for a moment, Darton strapped in to his fighter, helmet on, and keyed in the co-ordinates to Circumtore.
