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Private Carrying Sapphire [m]

Discussion in 'Elysium' started by Han Solo, Nov 8, 2019 at 9:50 AM.

  1. Han Solo

    Han Solo Star Wars
    Captain of the Millennium Falcon

    Posts:
    75
    Gender:
    Male
    Occupation:
    Smuggler
    Location:
    Elysium
    Race:
    Human
    Age:
    32
    Alignment:
    Chaotic Neutral
    Directory:
    link
    November 2nd
    @William Hudson
    Content Warning



    Divebar 69 was a shitstain of a place and everybody who went there knew that. You didn’t go for the ambience or even the drinks. Apparently the owners liked to make a lot of the drinks themselves, which Han just didn’t find appealing. He only drank something from D69 if he knew it came from a bottle and not their own little fermenting factory.

    A lot of the time, D69 was literally a shitstain. There was no bar in Elysium that had more people vomiting, shitting their pants, and getting into bar fights. It was actually kind of alarming, like it was unnatural. The place must’ve been cursed.

    Han was fortunate enough to have never shat his pants or threw up, which he largely attributed to avoiding the owner’s “home-brewed” drinks. He did get in a bar fight once here, but that’s because the guy was being a kriffing asshole and mocking Han. The smuggler was just a little bit drunk at that point, and needed to assert his dominance by beating him up.

    That was only one time, though. And tonight, Han was here strictly for business… and only one drink or two. He was a lucky man today because a few days ago, he caught wind of an alien named Udu who was basically a drug overlord. He brought in a powerful narcotic from his home universe that was in the form of needle injection. Everyone called it “sapphire.” Apparently it was supposed to be some pretty strong shit. Made you be able to smell colors and stuff.

    Han wasn’t into that kind of stuff. He wouldn’t want to lose all control of himself and risk being exposed. He just transported the goods for the money.

    Udu was a great big man, with multiple chins and beady little eyes. His skin was bright red and he had antennas that fell out of his skull and onto his chest. Udu liked to surround himself by beautiful women at bars. So when Han sat down at a booth across from him, he wasn’t surprised to find a woman smooching on him, leaning against him, touching him. She was definitely getting paid for that, no way she’d do it because she wanted to. But when Han showed up, Udu told her to stop and go get herself a drink at the bar, his treat.

    The smuggler had his hands on the table. Udu no doubt had heard by now about Han and how he was interested in doing business with him. ”So you’re Solo, huh?” he grumbled, and let out a burp. ”I thought you’d look….. bigger, pipsqueak.” And he let out a huge, roaring laugh.

    Han wasn’t amused. He needed this job, so he ignored the taunting. ”I am, and I hear you have two thousand pounds of Sapphire that needs freighting across the Cosmic Wilderness.”

    Udu stopped laughing. ”Right down to the point, eh? Yes, I do, but there’s a catch. See, my last freighter couldn’t tell what an Alliance flagship looked like,” Udu was growling, ”and got his ship raided. And guess what happened to all my precious product?! GONE!!” He slammed his fist on the table.

    Han was able to pull his hands away before that, emitting the smallest of sighs. He continued, ”Well, I can promise you this Udu, I won’t be like your last guy. In my home universe? I worked with the biggest drug cartel in the galaxy for over ten years, with no problems.” Well, that was a little bit of a lie.

    ”I know, I know. That’s what they told me. They said you’re the best, Solo, and honestly at this point, I really have no other choice. So fine, you’re hired. I’m going to offer twenty thousand credits for this job, and more in the future if you don’t fuck it up.”

    Han’s eyes were glossy. Twenty thousand credits? That was enough for ten times the monthly rent he promised Leia he’d pay.

    ”But so help me God, if you lose so much as even an OUNCE of product, I will send my guys to hunt your ass down and send it right back to the universe you came from,” Udu snarled at him. He whistled at his woman, and waved her to come back over. She gave her friend a look but came back to him.

    ”I understand. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” Han stuck his hand out, and Udu shook it. ”Docking bay ten, tomorrow morning, I will have a guy out there with the product. 4 AM. Don’t be late.”

    Han nodded and silently got up and left the booth. He was happy inside. He was going to be a rich man. He walked over to the bar, and sat down and ordered a drink. He looked at the clock on the wall: 12 AM. Well, looks like he was going to be pulling an all nighter. Han pulled out his new phone: An iPhone, they called it, and shot a text to Leia:

    I got a good paying job and it starts real early in the morning. I won't be home tonight. I'm sorry honey. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night

    Hopefully she wouldn’t be too mad at him.

     
    #1 Han Solo, Nov 8, 2019 at 9:50 AM
    Last edited: Nov 9, 2019 at 8:29 PM
    William Hudson likes this.
  2. William Hudson

    Posts:
    12
    Alignment:
    Neutral Good
    [​IMG]

    Déjà fucking vu!

    Hudson was sat around a table with a bunch of space marines, their jokes and laughter rising above the other conversations in the bar. They wore olive tank tops, their pants splashed in green patterns. It’d been a long day, man. Fucking obstacle courses and push-ups, man.

    “I have here the names of the lucky bastards that’re coming with me on a rescue mission to RIP-321,” Sgt. Capone told them, an unlit cigar sticking out of his mouth. It’d give him lip cancer one of these days. “The rest of you are going to die of jealousy. You see they’re rescuing a group of hot chicks from exterrestrials.”

    Hudson chortled knobbishly along with the other marines, confident as fuck that he wouldn’t get picked to go to RIP-321. He’d only joined this chicken shit outfit five seconds ago, man. They were gonna want people with experience to go to that fucking rock.

    “Vanguard,” Sgt. Capone nodded his cigar at a fiery Latino woman, who made a shooting gesture with both hands. “Duck.” A blond guy with a long scar at the corner of his eye high fived Vanguard, both of ‘em looking smug. “And Dicks.” A pretty boy sat at the other end of the table, exhaling smoke from his cigarette, his face unimpressed and surly.

    Hell, yeah, man. Hudson had dodged a bullet, man. He smirked to himself, taking a big gulp of his beer to celebrate his small victory. It tasted like dog barf, but what the hell. It made him feel badass.

    “Wait. I had one more person,” Sgt. Capone flicked through a small notebook. “Hudson.”

    Hudson spat his beer out across the table, the oily droplets splattering Pvt. Snow, who swore at him. His stomach lurched uneasily, threatening to bring up worse than fucking beer.

    “Hey, man! Not me, man!” Hudson protested in a strained voice. “You want to send the new guy? No way, man! No way! Maybe in a couple months. But not yet, man!”

    An icy silence fell over the table, the frowns of the marines on Hudson, each one condemning him. But whatever, man. What-the-fuck-ever! He didn’t give a fuck what people thought of him now. He’d let Vanguard rip off his fucking balls with her bare hands, before he went on another bug hunt.

    “Just sleep over it first,” Sgt. Capone patted him fatherly on the rigid shoulder. “If you still feel the same tomorrow-” His voice turned icy. “Hand in your resignation.”

    They rose as one with a shrill, strangled screech of chair legs, scowling stonily at him, before leaving him alone at the big empty table. Fuck them. He wasn’t going on another bug hunt, man.

    Hudson lost track of how long he sat there on his own, his skin damp with sweat, his hands trembling around his drink. He just couldn’t go on another fucking bug hunt. They’d kill him, man! They’d grease him like a rat fuck son of a bitch! They’d KO him! Game over, man! Game over!

    But how the fuck else was he supposed to rake in the money? Four more weeks. He’d had four more weeks left in the Corps back home, then he could’ve bought his bar and hired some super business whizz to run it, while he lived off the profits. As soon as he’d made the drop to that rock, his plan had gone to fucking shit. He was back to square one now, man. You set off the buzzer, man. You don’t get to pass Go.

    A conversation behind him started to filter in through his gloomy thoughts. He listened vaguely, at first, before his mind cleared at the mention of twenty thousand credits. Twenty thousand credits, man! That would put him back on track, man!

    Hudson turned in his chair, struggling to see much from his position. He caught sight of the back of a guy, the one called “Solo”, rising from a nearby booth and heading over to the bar. Hudson downed the rest of his beer, which helped settle the quiver in his hands.

    Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he rose to his feet and swaggered over to the bar like a badass. Not like, man. He was a badass. The ultimate badass! State-of-the-badass-art!

    “YO!” he boomed at the Solo guy, slamming his hand down on the wooden bar next to him. “Hey, man. I heard you talking to that guy, man. Do you-”

    He’d turned to nod at the guy, his freaky deaky appearance causing him to seize up like a jammed M41A. He felt the all too fucking familiar feeling of wanting to simultaneously barf, shit and piss out his guts.

    "What the fuck is that thing, man?" Hudson whimpered at Solo. "We're fucked! We're doomed!"
     
    Han Solo likes this.