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Beske strolled onwards, directing his only slightly unwilling companion towards the "secret place" he had promised, so the two could conduct their buisiness in private. The dark haired human they had only just managed to avoid accidently knocking out had thankfully disappeared into the murk of the canteen, and Beske prayed inebriation was on his mind and nothing else. His flippant comment unnerved Beske, despite hearing more aggressive threats during his time in Mos Eisley, and once or twice he casually glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. He reminded himself to play down his "nice but dim drunken space cad adventurer" character a little more should the ruse attract more...unwanted...attention. His uneasiness grew nauseatingly as he thought he recognised the man from studying holograms of prominent figures-'Wasn't his name Bikes or something? Associated with the CSA, whom I have just slandered in front of a few dozen space scum?' He thought pensively.
Beske shook himself and repressed his worries. CSA or no, that fellow had that familiar look in his eyes, that look of worry that could only be cured with a strong dose of whatever firewater that bar served.

He steeled himself as the three arrived at their location.

The bombed-out little grotto, what used to be a cantina or speeder fuelling station had long since ceased to serve its primary function, in fact any function,was the place that this particular deal was to go down. He had chosen it for its dilapidated appearance, the broken pieces of walls still intact serving to hide the small group from prying eyes. He turned to the Bothan, regaining his braggadocio.

The Bothan, however, had regained none of his.

"Ah, Mr Dialo, that man whom you so nearly harmed with the door just then, he, ah, I might have, ah...had dealings with associates of his in the past-" He stammered.

Beske has no time for this and even less for his hairy companions' speech impediment.

"Well, should the good gentlemen decide to follow a couple of drunks into a place that looks like it has housed more murders than you have earned credits, is all the more reason we should proceed with all speed, eh? Now, where is that lovely carsunum you've come all the way here to be rid of?" Beske drawled hopefully.

"Ah, the ah, money,first, if you please, Mr Dialo."

Beske grimaced. The Bothan was certainly no newcomer to his trade. Nodding once at his steely partner, he strode over to the bundle of rags that had rested patiently on a charred bench. He grabbed the dirty cloth and threw it aside, revealing a battered old R2 unit, grime marking its surfaces and smearing its optic lens.

"My dear friend, I give you Puck, a fully operational R2 unit, as a bonus on top of the 10k he has inside his little metal belly. Now, if you give him a click here, he should...oh,my..."

The sound, previously muffled by Puck's garb, was now audible to both human and Bothan. A low whining filled the poorly lit cavern, and the Bothan looked alarmedly at Beske.

"That's Puck's early-warning device. It appears we might have been followed."

The Bothan's bovine eyes widened to the radius of his skull and he began to stutter inanely. Beske pressed home his advantage.

"Quickly, let me have the carsunum and I'll arrange program another rendezvous into Puck so he can meet you there..." To Beske's surprise, the Bothan was shaking his shaggy head.

"Do not think me, ah, stupid, Mr Dialo. Do you really think I would have the goods on my person in a deal like this? No, in this situation the, ah, agreement must be postponed until a later date-" The Bothan stopped. For a few seconds neither said anything, the only sound in the cavern was the low whining, gradually increasing in pitch and volume.

Beske was now pointing a customised DL-22 blaster at his buisiness partner.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that. Now, you have three options. You can leave here in the cuffs of whoever walks into here first, or you can leave here in one piece and show me where the carsunum is...or, you can leave here in...more than one piece."

The Bothan shrugged. "Killing me wont get you your drugs, Mr Dialo."

Beske lowered his blaster an inch. "No, but blowing off one of your hairy legs might."

The Bothan didn't move or say anything. Another silence prevailed, punctuated only by the whining eminating from Puck, growing gradually louder. Suddenly the blaster in Beske's hand flinched, and a shot vomited from the chunky barrel, searing past the Bothan's head and into the pock marked wall.

The Bothan flared his wet nostrils and hissed a curse. "Fine. Good to know there are still ah,gentlemen in the trade. Follow me, if you please."

Beske smiled a tight smile that didn't betray his growing nerves. The whining from Puck, of course, was no early warning signal, just as there was no money inside the R2 unit. The pre-programmed signal sent out to local authority transmitters from the droid was usually enough to persuade shady characters to hand over their contraband to Beske without quarrel, for fear of imprisonment or worse. It had worked on a couple of Rodian merchants shuttling arms around the planet. This time, however, he had been forced to pull his weapon on the subject, and now he was being taken to wherever his precious carsunum was with gods know who hot on their tail.

(EDIT: spelling mistakes)

Hurriedly making their way from the bombed-out grotto across the street, the group, led by the Bothan, now headed for a small underpass, marked by a solitary funnel plant. Puck's whining had now subsided, and the defunct little unit was strapped, with some awkwardness and difficulty, onto Beske's back.

Quickly the Bothan shuffled down to the sandy underpass, and approached the funnel plant. Giving it a quick once-over and a shake, he produced a hand-carved doll from the J-shaped stem of the flower.
Peering closer, Beske could see that it was in the rough shape of a wookie, probably made on this planet by some jawa. Its body was, in proportion, tiny compared to the swollen head, which had been enlarged for a specific purpose. The cavity in the fanged mouth was holding a see-thru bag, clamped shut at the top. Beske could see the sticky,pollen looking goldish yellow powder contained within, and sighed relievedly.

"There, ah, Mr Dialo. I do hope you are, ah, happy."

"Quite, my friend, quite. You don't mind if I try it, of course? Make sure it's the real thing and all. Can't be too careful these days, can we?" The human giggled.

The Bothan simply glowered as Beske forced his finger into the bag and withdrew it, snuffing some up his nose and passing the residue over his gums and teeth.
Nearly instantly Beske felt the chemical pang in his head as the carsunum took effect. He inhaled deeply, feeling the heady rush work its swift way from his head all the way down to his feet, caressing each of his blood vessels on the way. His heartrate increased, yet he felt far calmer. A beatific smile passed his features as he regarded the Bothan again.

"By the Emperor's black heart, I needed that! Now, my furry friend, as for that unpleasantness you forced me into earlier, I am quite certain I can repay you, in light of recent eve-"

The Bothan was wrenched sideways as a blaster bolt struck him square in the chest, his body tossed through the air for a second before coming to an ungainly rest on the ground a few meters away.

Beske's head whipped round, his green eyes wide, and saw two sloppily dressed figures, one of whom was holding a smoking blaster, stood atop the overpass. Their uniform, if it could be called that, carried the logo of Mos Eisley, and Beske could only guess they were whatever passed for security around here. One of them, Beske saw was a Rodian, his antennae twitching with mirth.

"Unauthorised trading of contraband goods on Hutt property gets you stunned and cuffed, and resisting arrest gets you killed. Which one's it gonna be, Bantha fodder?" The reptilian drawled.

Beske looked back to where his contact lay prone, the rise and fall of his chest barely visible. Then he looked at his antagonisers. Head still buzzing from the carsunum, he shrugged off Puck, the inert droid clattering to the ground. The defunct little unit only whistled out a low warning drone as Beske burst into a leaping sprint that carried him in a matter of seconds over to where the two enforcers stood. Clearly not at all prepared for such a display of speed, the Rodian's delayed blaster shot sailed way over the human's head, and a milisecond later the weapon was kicked from his grasp. Semi-pirouetting, Beske scooped his right foot upto the Rodian's head,snapping it upwards, the Rodians bug eyes widening in shock. His right foot returning to the ground, Beske stepped forward in one swift motion and delivered a three-finger jab to the exposed throat of the Rodian, crushing pipes there with an ugly grunch noise.

As his first opponent dropped to the ground, Beske wheeled around for the other, knowing he had to stay moving to not become a target for blaster fire. Sure enough, his other opponent, head covered in a blast helmet, had shuffled behind him so as not to target the Rodian with his shot. Spinning backwards, he couldn't avoid taking the edge of the stun shot by his hip, the blast singing the lapel of his jacket. In range now, he wheeled his fist in a large backhand, and caught his opponent on the side of the head, lifting him off his feet by an inch or so, before the now unconscious body spun to the ground.

Stood panting over the bodies of his fallen enemies, he felt the rush of the carsunum leave his body, his skin tingling all over with the combined high of the drug and adrenaline. He realised he didn't yet feel any pain from the half-shot he took in the hip, and he looked at his right hand, that he had used to fell his second opponent. All four knuckles were bleeding steadily, the result of smashing a bare fist into a pasteel alloy blast helmet. Yet he felt no pain here either.

Beske knew it would only be a matter of time before the pain would set in, and he was sure there'd be more enforcers or oppurtunists on their way soon. He rejoined the stirring body of the Bothan and scooped up the wookie doll, setting Puck up straight as he did so. He needed to leave, preferably without the Bothan, immediately.

"My frakking jacket is ruined!"

Watching the other body drop to the ground only mere feet from where Beske stood was a little embarrassing for the human. Although he'd attacked the security out of necessity, he had evoked a certain thrill from it and was sure he had the situation in hand.

The near headless would-be assassin gently sizzling away proved somewhat otherwise.

Lifting his eyes to where his...assistant was, he deftly stowed the wookie doll in a jacket pocket and extended his arm to greet the newcomer, in the universal gesture of greeting, before realising it was covered in blood, dropping it, and extending the other.

Although he had never seen an albino Rodian before, he kept his keen racial curiosity to himself. This Rodian had, after all, probably saved his life.

'Smile, Beske, you look like a giggledust junkie' he thought to himself.

"Well, we can't all be dead-shot marksmen like you clearly are, sir!"

(OOC: Good idea!,fine with that)

Beske stood up slowly, taking his time in dusting the sand from his clothes and straightening his damaged jacket.

He looked from the datapad, to the Rodian, and back again. Events had certainly begun to accelerate.

His pride still smarting from his companions decidedly uncivilised greeting, he regarded the bounty hunter with a pensive gaze and rasied eyebrow whilst he mulled the proposition over.

If this cowboy was in fact a member of the illustrious Blue Star Pirates, Beske had just been offered to join a group of thugs, mercenaries and rogues, whom operated under a faint and questionable moral code, and who regularly plundered the spacelanes and various planets alike. A group of misfits who lived in secrecy and acted of their own volition in spite of the rest of the galaxy.

Beske grinned.
How romantic.

Still, judging from this particular "pirate", they seemed to lack taste, respect, and tact. And, judging from a certain aroma now tinging the air, good personal hygeine.

Nevertheless, it was an offer worth exploring.

"Tell me, friend, you are asking me to meet with a friend of yours, ask him to agree to a contract on an Imperial officer, and I am to offer him a substantial amount of money to do so. You haven't, however, told me what to do if he disagrees to the offer, though. As you have said, he is more likely to refuse to acquiesce to your demands, so where does that leave me...halfway through an awkward conversation with a heavily armed and formidable bounty hunter? You haven't even told me where this meeting will take place, and more to the point, your name..."

OOC: Shall I just post in the GRP thread? Being as this looks like a perfect oppurtunity for linkage.

EDIT: nix that, I'll go ahead and post. Just a quick follow up to get things moving there.