Gaibriel could feel the orgasm building against the very base of his spine, some briefest tickle of impending sensation. Like fingers only just brushing along the nerve endings in his lower back, right there where his backbone curled over the flexing muscles of his buttocks. He was so close, only right there. But he was determined to bring the woman along with him, too.

Azale was bouncing in his lap. She faced away from him, rising and falling over his own thrusting hips. All cute and human a female, with her inky black hair flying in damp tendrils against her petite shoulders. His groin met and then pulled back from under the cheeks of her ass, as he lifted himself into her over and over. Rocking closer to her, closer to climax with her. He lifted up, eased the palms of his hands to wrap around her torso. He held her back against his chest as he gently cupped the sweet teacups of her breasts in both his hands, both of them reaching for that singular moment of pleasure together.

Gaibriel dropped his forehead down onto the soft curve of her shoulder, breathing harshly as he felt the tingling tumble of satisfaction beginning. He was so damn close … He groaned loudly, felt Azale tremble and shake there in front of him, her entire body quivering as she managed to find her peak and tumble over into orgasmic bliss. She went so snug around him! His scrotum tightened roughly and he dropped his hands down, held Azale's hips close, right against his groin and he spilled himself into her, growling out sounds of masculine satisfaction.

Some distant part of Gaibriel's mind recognized the burst of endorphins on his brain with near clinical detachment, almost analytically. Like he was a machine of some sort. He only held Azale as he wondered dazedly how much the orgasm was only covering the pains and doubts of his life. As powerful as any opiate, the bio-chemicals rushing through him so he could feel his muscles loosening and relaxing, feel calm spreading through him. He panted softly, the breaths rustling the soft skin of Azale's shoulder-blades until the skin pebbled into adorable gooseflesh and she shivered softly in his arms.

She giggled, "You are so, so good at this, captain."

Gaibriel smiled drowsily, blithely marking the trek of sweat droplets that fell from his forehead onto Azale's softly curved shoulder. He licked gently against her skin, there, "Because the captain always knows the best course, trust me." Gaib pressed a kiss against Azale's back, moving her off his lap with a deliciously deft twist of his arms so that he could settle her down over the cushions of the bed where he kneeled on both bent legs. He leaned down again just to kiss her languidly, slowly releasing her before clambering off the bed to find his clothes again.

Shaking loose, from the simple and easy pleasure. From the easy hiding it had become, more like.

Azale sat up, indolently tossing her long, black hair behind her ears again so she could better observe the pull of Gaibriel's lean hips as he yanked his pants up over the fit curve of his buttocks. The music from several decks above continued unabated, if only because Drooga would never allow his party to stop over something as simple as whatever hour of the day it might be right then. The pounding pulse of sound and rhythm was a constant. Azale smiled, "Do you really have to cover that amazingly sweet butt of yours? I mean, there's no real reason for you to rush. We could play together some more, here."

Gaibriel chuckled, twisting his head around to look at her from over his shoulder. He didn't stop his motions, though. Just moved towards the ornate curtain that covered the doorway of the tiny refresher space in the cabin Azale was allotted whenever she visited Drooga's pleasure barge on Nar Shaddaa. She curled her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees, listening to the splashing sounds Gaibriel was making as he washed and cleaned himself.

Gaibriel remarked from behind the curtained doorway, "Most likely earned myself a telling scolding from my guys, just as it is. Best not to encourage them into making it some full-blown thing that crushes my poor, little feelings." Azale twisted her pert nose into a frown of confusion as she considered the handsome captain emerging from behind the curtain. He was concentrating on the twist of buckles that lined the front of his jacket over his chest, his fingers moving smoothly against the fastenings. Azale sniffed, "They're your crew. They should do as you say, rather."

Gaibriel tugged the tail edge of his jacket down, until the fabric was taut against his torso and chest. He tossed the brief bangs of his hair from out of his eyes, thinking how he needed to trim his hair again. Then he grinned widely at Azale, admiring her tiny female figure, all creamy naked skin curved in just the right ways there on the bed. Just another gleaming appraisal one last time. He really did like her pert cuteness, he decided.

Gaib told her, "Yea, and they do. Precisely cause I don't treat them like shit scraped off my boots." He canted his head sideways, "Besides. It keeps Corso from calling my blaster something like 'you're on your own' at least anytime soon-wise. That man loves naming things that go pew pew, believe me." Azale shrugged one delicious-looking shoulder. It was enough Gaibriel considered crossing over to her, just to run his tongue along that curved bit of soft skin again. He even bit his tongue lightly, trying to distract himself. She was such a sweet piece of female.

Not that he didn't like most any cute little woman, too. Crap, they all seemed cute enough he just wanted to give them whatever it is they wanted, damn him to some sort of hells where he serviced women forever. But maybe that's only from feeling so guilt-ridden whenever he realized all over again how much he used them. Like they were his very own giggledust again, just walking around and talking to him this time.

Of course, some doctor-sort would be quick to poke and prod over all his feelings when it came to the women and the spice both, too. Try to figure out what the stuff was really replacing, or covering up for. Because any addiction really was a question of something lost or broken in the individual, they'd tell him. And since he already knew that, as well as what it was – well, there wasn't any real reason to go asking them for help. At least that's what Gaib always managed to convince himself. Just in time to go swinging his hips into some new woman's bed at least.

In other words, he was just plain fucked. But in a good way this time around. No more puking his guts into a bucket aside his bed, cheers!

But Azale was frowning over at him, still, "My daddy would just shout at them, until they did as he said." Gaibriel couldn't stop himself, just let his head drop backwards as he laughed towards the ceiling of the brief cabin space on the barge. All he could think was how Risha and Corso both would respond so much differently to him shouting and growling at them. Neither would stick around him very long, though. He knew that much.

Truly, though. The fact Azale had standing and class enough to garner even so much modicum of an actual berth on Drooga's barge spoke to her father's place in the pecking order that was Cartel-controlled space, too. Of course the man was likely stiff and over-proud a sort, and he probably shouted a whole hells lot more than Gaibriel ever did, at anyone. Let alone the people he actually liked.

And Gaibriel wasn't stupid enough, that he failed to notice his own place didn't warrant a pretty room of his own. Not here. Not that Azale's daddy-man likely scored so much tender loyalty and respect from Drooga, either. Too much human, anyway.

Hutts were funny worms, most of the time. But they could be counted on to really not respect anyone who wasn't as wormy as they themselves, Gaibriel thought. Typical of any species, really, not to care about the ones who don't look like you did when you turned on the mirror in the 'fresher room. No, Drooga was probably Hutt enough that he valued Azale's father like he did Gaibriel - for whatever use both humans provided him, rather. And her father's usefulness was deemed a tad more valuable. For now, at least.

So Gaibriel didn't get his own cabin on Drooga's barge. He still managed a sweet as Hell ride through the night, he thought.

Gaibriel kept chuckling as he snapped his belt over his hips, before tying the strap securing his blaster holster tight along his thigh. He smirked at Azale, "I'd rather sweet-talk Risha into fixing my ship up all nice and proper, than have her backhand me across the damn mouth for being stupid enough to shout at her … it's definitely more fun that way, at least." He noticed the darkening expression on Azale's face right then, and silently castigated himself for tossing another woman's name into the mix right then. Shit, he should've stayed focused on Corso's absurd habit of naming whatever weapon he managed to be hefting right then. Safer that way, cause then Gaib might manage another night between Azale's flower-scented sheets. Gaib raised up both his hands, as if surrendering, "Risha is way better a grease-monkey than me, trust me."

Azale relaxed back to recline against the bed cushions again, and Gaib ambled close enough to smilingly ghost another kiss as he leaned down over her. She smiled up at him, "Oh, I don't know. Making you all slippery against me can be really enjoyable, too."

Gaibriel straightened up again, "Sweetheart, there's the sweet wetness that comes from playing between the sheets. And then there's grease from a ship's engines. That you don't know the real difference between the two is precisely why I'm looking forward to seeing you later." Azale hummed happily and waved as Gaibriel finally ducked out the doorway. He bounded through the narrow passages of the barge, headed for the entranceway that lead out to the promenade.

He was looking for alcove enough, that he might respond to the trilling calls of his commlink along the way to meeting up with Corso. Which was why he dodged the very tail-ends of Drooga's latest entertainment still splayed in ungainly and splendorous, slovenly heaps all over the cushions and chairs and across the tables of the barge's upper decks. Fun times were over, at least for now. Didn't mean he had to stop himself from snatching up a bowl of cracknel left behind on one table, right before he sauntered down the ramp onto the Promenade itself.

Gaib ducked under the awning of one wide viewscreen overlooking the Nar Shaddaa expanse, out of sight of the crowd still rushing by his very own new hiding spot. Then he activated his commlink, watching Wicks' glowing figure take shape over the device. Gaibriel continued crunching happily on his snack and never mind Wicks' glowering countenance on the holoimage. Wicks growled at him, "Why is it, if I'm not complaining over whatever female's occupied your attention it's some piece of food stuffed in your mouth?"

Gaibriel grinned, "Have to keep in practice, riling the nerves of all manner of men and machines. It's a talent, Wicks!"

"Till you go off making damned friends, you fucking joker!"

"Ah. Just some bones, Wicks." Gaibriel shrugged, turning his gaze sideways towards the streams of aliens and humans alike that moved quickly along the Promenade. "I'm looking to meet up with Corso right now, wrap up things here on the Fine Lady herself. You'll see. Just tell me you got a twenty on that hammock, Wicks."

Wicks shook his head, "Yea and told you I would, too. Nikki needs some time on the Beach, now. He's playing old soldier, if you ask me." Wicks held up his hand when Gaibriel opened his mouth to argue, "No! They scratched him good! Besides, you've got deuces and sevens enough, yourself. Dammit, Gaib!"

Gaibriel scowled, "Hey! That Hutt-spawn Skavak was the one with serious bad breath, Wicks! Rogun's just rubbing his bones, here."

"Yea, well, now there're mynocks looking to buy you some fucking tea. Look, don't make me leave the Beach to come and play cause of your damned ass, Gaib! I will scratch you worse than Nikki was, I seriously swear it! Got a fin yet?" Wicks actually pointed at him, looking as stern as Gaibriel ever saw his own real father, even. Gaib looked away, so that he missed Wicks' tiredly pushing his fingers through the thick strands of his hair. "Gaib. I know your fuel. Change it, son."

Gaibriel rolled his shoulders with seeming lazy indifference, crunching the cracknel between his teeth loudly as he watched the wall of the brief alcove, studied the poster torn sideways and hanging half off what he was fairly certain was a walled surface made of flexsteel. He idly wondered why the Hutts would've expended so much expense to the construction of a wall in such an obscure location, even if it was on the Promenade.

And the old smuggler eventually sighed again. Loudly enough Gaib glanced back at the holoimage, and watched Wicks shake his head at him, "Just think it over, at least. And make the Kessel off the Fine Lady as quick as you can." Gaibriel noted the winking light of the holoimage disappearing from against the wall, tossed aside the empty bowl from the cracknel that sat dry in between his teeth.

Not for the first time, Gaib wondered why Wicks' respect and care wasn't enough. He knew well enough Wicks considered him the closest thing to a child of his very own, that he'd lugged Gaibriel along time after time and worried over him even more. Hells, the Way was Gaib's, was captained by his own name over the helm – every note and record in the ports they entered reflected that silent, unasked-for transfer of ownership, and never mind that Wicks never really asked him, never said anything before putting his name there … Just there!

It simply wasn't enough, not enough to cover the gaping emptiness that always sat like some sour lump deep and heavy in his senses. Like a fucking turd he couldn't quite expel, Gaib huffed out a loud breath as he spun towards the opening of the alcove.

Gaibriel yanked loose some of the wires he'd tucked into the pouch at his waist, right there next to the handle of his blaster. The feel of the plastifibers against his fingers was a soothing bit of nonsense as he turned quickly from out of the windowed alcove and jumped up onto the stairwell leading to the yawning expanse of the Upper Promenade, with all its fine shops and marketing stalls. And he easily manipulated the brief strands as he went.

The flow of the crowds swept him along and he moved quickly, ducking past not some few bit of loud-mouthed goons and roughnecks, several almost bare-skinned prostitutes, and even a rather industrious little pickpocket that Gaib neatly bumped away from reaching past the buckles of his jacket. Gabriel waved at the pint-sized criminal-in-training, just before swinging his way through the doors of the food stall where Corso insisted they meet up this morning. Something about hot Gizka sandwiches, although why anyone would want to eat Gizka meat was a dumfounding question in Gaib's mind.

So long as it wasn't stewed, at least. The fucking stench of stewed Gizka meat prompted memories of the slave camps first-off, and always left Gaib's stomach twisting into knots.

Gabriel scanned the crowded interior of the stall, looking for his friend. Looking, looking. And maybe whatever sandwich Corso wanted him to eat would help wash away the bad taste the conversation with Wicks left in his throat. But then Gaibriel heard Corso yelling aloud. Of course, because nothing was ever so simple as eating a damn sandwich.

"What! Hey, give that back … you rat thing! Ah, shit!"

Gaibriel's eyes widened as he finally caught sight of Corso, saw him dancing in wild, incredible circles there in the center of the food stall. In the very simple center of the space, because everyone sane and smart enough was dodging from out of his way. It just wasn't every day a man gave a monkey-lizard a ride right up atop his own head, mind you.

The monkey-lizard was sparsely covered in fur and whiskers, all ruddy-colored. Gaibriel rather thought he could hear the damned thing yodeling some insane tune as it rode on top of Corso's head, like one of those absurd Thranta-riders in one of their crazy sky rodeos over the planet Bespin. Laughing wildly in a banshee sing-song dance, waving one arm through the air and holding tight to Corso's braids with the other, "Weeeee, woooooo!" Corso tried grabbing the little beast, but it only dug its claws even harder into the thick tendrils of hair in the center of his head, pulling hard. The crowd was howling, wild gales of laughter that rose up into the air, providing a hilarious backdrop to the monkey-lizard's cries and to Corso's curses alike.

Gaibriel only stood there, watching and biting his lip hard enough he actually split his lip between his hard teeth. He was so amused by the spectacle he very nearly missed the woman whistling out over the crowd's hilarity suddenly, a sharp quavering sound before she cried to the monkey-lizard, "Quinnie! Knock it off!" The monkey-lizard chortled one last time, smoothly dropping off of Corso's head and neatly dodged his stomping boots as it trotted away into the crowd.

Corso's face was red with temper and upset. Not surprising, considering his braids were sticking up atop his head in ragged clumps. Small droplets of blood marked a couple of lengths of his hair along the very top of his head, too. Several onlookers chuckled and called out to him, some wild whistles sounding out as they whooped at Corso, "Bucking amazing, Cloudhead! Let the little rat ride you some more!" Corso spun on the heel of his boot, eyeing the floor with narrowed eyes.

"Damn you, you monster! Come back here and meet Flashy! You'll get along so well, trust me!" Corso ignored the laughter of the crowd around him, virulently angry as he continued spinning in circles until he suddenly zeroed in on a specific corner of the room and pointed. "There it is!"

Flashy? Gaibriel looked down at his hip, where the SSK heavy blaster Corso told him back on Ord Mantell was called Flashy. Here's hoping the Mantellian didn't expect Gaib to haul off and fire any bolts at that particular monkey-lizard, he thought. Damn thing had him laughing hard as the hells, so that Wicks on the Beach with his wagging finger was that much more far off and away just then. Gaibriel preferred laughing, liked anything that made him laugh. Today it was a monkey-lizard.

But Corso was agitated. His braids flew against the sides of his red flushed features, slapped hard right along the edge of his tightened jaw. And he argued with the female who remained outside of Gaibriel's sight, back behind the front line of the crowd. Corso was growling and stomping, as red as any Reek. Gaibriel chuckled and called out suddenly, "Corso, honestly. Is a piece of beef really worth all of this effort? Although if you can do it again, that would be great! I didn't really get the chance to get it on vid, dammit!"

Corso swiped a thick finger against the side of his head, just above his ear. He held up the pointed finger of his glove, smeared with dusky red blood, "Not funny, captain! I'm bleeding, here! See this?"

Then the female voice rose up again, easily barking out despite the continued rowdy push and pull of the milling onlookers. Gaibriel tried turning to see her, but all he managed to catch sight of was the dull sheen of armor and the side of one ebony-colored wash of hair. Human, he supposed. And pretty much as amused as he was, if the tone of her voice was anything worth considering.

"I'll fix your head quick enough, if you'll stop and calm down. And don't go shooting my monkey-lizard! Someone paid me good money to get him off Balmorra."

Corso snuffled, "Paid you? What, it tortured someone else?"

"Yep. Not sure that Imperial will ever really forgive him for it, either."

"An Imperial? Well." Corso narrowed his dark eyes towards the monkey-lizard, that was apparently clinging to the woman's boot. If the line of Corso's attention was an indication, anyway. Gaibriel tried to see the little beast again, twisted his head towards the floor nearby the female's boots. But all he managed to do was hear the monkey-lizard laughing. Corso scowled at it, "Did it rip his hair out, too?"

Gaibriel stepped up to stand alongside Corso, pushed his hand out of the way of the laceration against his scalp. He leaned close enough to examine the wound, "Ah, you have plenty of hair left, Corso. Shit! Don't know what you're so worried about, it's still longer than mine!" Gaib glanced sideways, when some small, slender female stepped close enough to stand next to him and look over Corso's head, too. The first woman was still and quiet, though. Just the tiny one was murmuring now, and the crowd slowly edged back from the altercation, only watching.

The little female was muttering firmly, the glint of cybernetics winking at Gaibriel over the cool curve of her eyebrow, "Let me see. Think he got you there, right alongside the temple. Real gouge mark, ouch." Corso swallowed as he watched the woman's small frame, felt her slender fingers smoothing over the side of his face and down along his jaw. But he guffawed when she pointed to the bleeding spot on his head, turned to look at Gaibriel as the most satisfied smirk spreading over his face.

"Told you so! Thing practically tore me apart!"

Gaibriel snorted, rolling his eyes with deliberate slowness. "Oh yea, right. My heart's fucking bleeding over here. Seriously. Can't you tell?" Corso yawned tellingly, shrugging lightly as he turned back to the little cyborg female and smiled. Gaib was just about to laugh at Corso's regular tendency to be so sidetracked by anything with an estrogen-laden form, and Corso really would've played along.

But the other one, the woman with both her armored gloved hands rough and hard – she grabbed Gaibriel, right there against the collar of his blue jacket just above the brilliant buckles that crossed both sides of his chest. He actually yelped in surprise as she yanked his head around to glare up fully into his face, and never mind how he glowered at her, "Hey! Let go, wench!" Her dark brown eyes were steely hard, focused on him as she scanned every twist and turn of his features; every bend of his chin and jaw, every crystal glint in his blue eyes.

She pulled him closer, until their noses very nearly bumped together, "Who're you?"

Gaibriel snarled, "I said. Let. Go."

"I asked you a question!"

"And I told you to fucking let go of me!"

The cyborg female was watching them, her cute, round face bounding back and forth between them as they argued. At least the monkey-lizard was just as curious, rather than trying anything like taking a chunk out of his own ass rather than a hank of Corso's hair. The little rat was bouncing on its hind legs, watching them like they were two contestants in a strange game of Huttball, maybe.

Gaibriel glared at the woman holding him so securely, the toughness of her features. Hells, she was marked with vivid scars that carved along her jaw and stretched under the lambent curl of cybernetics circling her brown eyes.

Figures. Wicks would never let this one go … fucking ten minutes after warning him, and a damn mynock grabs him in the first blasted stall he enters. Damn it all. The Hunter grimaced at him, "Think you're going to win this little game, captain?" Corso snorted loudly, "He always does. Believe me."

Gaib sighed. "Dammit, Corso! Get her off me!"

"I distinctly remember you laughing your ass off when that rodent thing was tearing me apart."

"I so did not!"

"Nerf-shit! I saw you! Right over there!"

Gaibriel snorted, leaning sideways as if to dispute Corso even further. But mostly to get the Hunter off-balance. Except she eased her own frame smoothly to match his own motions, as if she were reading him faster, simpler than he was anything of her. Then she deliberately tilted her head up, bumped his chin with her forehead and she breathed his name, almost begged him, "Gaib? Gaibriel? I've been looking for you for so gods-damned long." Gaib stopped. He blinked at her, at every bit and turn of her face. Her eyes! He knew her eyes! Gaibriel raised up one of his hands, until the very ends of his fingers touched just where her scars were thickest.

The memory screamed through him, the big beefy-figured lout of a man shouting out his threats and his snarled refrains as he held her high up and shook her tiny body, until her blood spilled down her face and she was screaming.

Gaib pushed her hair back from her face, to see her better. "Kastiel? I thought …" His breath hitched, "Gods … I thought you were dead." Kastiel glanced sideways, at the gathered onlookers now watching them with bemused curiosity. That littler cyborg stepped away from Corso, closer to the pair of them, and she murmured, "Kas? Is he important? Like the other one?"

Gaibriel narrowed his eyes towards Kastiel, "What other one?" But Kas only nodded towards her cyborg companion, before pulling against Gaibriel's collar even harder and dragging him behind her as she marched out of the stall's doors. He yelped some more, twisting backwards as Corso leaped after them. "Oh, yea. Now you try to help, huh? Thanks a hells lot, Corso!"

Corso trotted along behind them, "Shut up! That damned monkey-lizard won't get off my back, here!" And sure enough, when Gaib glanced over his shoulder he could just make out the skinny little creature hanging onto Corso's shoulders. That was plainly funny enough, that Gaibriel huffed a sudden laugh. But he almost choked on it when Kastiel suddenly barreled to a stop right there in the center of the yawning Promenade walkway.

It was so sudden Gaib actually stumbled into Kastiel's back, and he grumbled sourly as his nose thumped straight into the hard edge of her armored back. Except the sound of his voice was little more than a whining squawk, what with his nose smarting painfully where it smashed into her armor's back piece. "Ah, fucking hells … my nose." Kastiel stiffened into firm readiness, her grip on Gaibriel's collar never slackening for even a moment. Behind them, both the little cyborg woman and Corso with his new monkey-lizard of a buddy that clung haphazardly to the rough edge of his armor – they both muttered quietly together, with a lot of hushing noise coming from the cyborg.

Gaibriel looked over Kastiel's curved shoulder, and he sighed loudly as he caught sight of a new armored figure standing in front of them. This one was a man, large and looming broadly, there. And decked out in the prettiest damn red and black armor Gaibriel had ever seen. It even gleamed! Gaib harrumphed, "Great. More fucking Mynocks. Wicks is so going to bust my ass." Kastiel jerked her hold against Gaibriel's collar, dropping her other hand down to tap the handle of her blaster hanging next to her hip with a steady and precise rhythm. She never lost her hold on Gaibriel, only pulled him closer, rather.

The other Hunter grunted something that sounded like amusement, the sound tinny and machine-like coming from behind the smooth-edged helmet covering his face. He lifted one of his hands, pointing a thickly gloved finger towards Gaibriel, where he was still almost stumbling into Kastiel's shoulder. Then he announced loudly, mostly to the gathered onlookers of course. Because a good showing was always good for a Hunter's reputation, mind you. "Hey, captain-man Gaibriel Duncan. Hello! I'm Zank Helrott, Rogun's personal bounty hunter. He'd really like to talk to you, captain. Still."

Kastiel leaned her head sideways, never dropping her gaze from her rival as she addressed that little friend of hers, the cyborg still standing quietly behind her. "Mako! Check for any possible, single or multiple bounties on Gaibriel Duncan, wherever they are and whoever it is that made them. I don't care. I just want them claimed, owned, declared, sealed and finished – I want every bounty with his name involved called mine, is all. And now." Gaibriel felt his stomach clench tight, felt his chest stiffen as he breathed in and held the air in his lungs for the longest moment. He pressed harder into Kastiel's side, and waited. But that Mako woman lifted up her chin, stiffly proud as she declared, "Oh, it's so done, Kas."

Zank shook his head, "No way, girlie. He doesn't march his smooth ass off this world, believe me. Not this time. Hell, I polished my armor just for the chance to come here and make him own the deaths of my friends back on Ord Mantell. Here, you're only in the way." Kastiel tapped more firmly over the handle of her blaster. She dropped her grip on Gaib's collar, moving more in front him so that he was practically tucked straight behind her back. And never mind how much taller than her that Gaibriel was, either. She neatly announced her determination in every shift and turn of her armored form, there in front of him.

She certainly didn't hesitate. Kastiel pointed up towards the underside of Zank's helmet, "Not to be over-picky. But you missed a spot …" Zank Helrott glanced downwards, as if there really was a speck or blot that might have caught her attention. And Kastiel lashed out suddenly, her fist flying up from where she was still steadily tapping her blaster. She was fast, fast, her clenched fist almost blurring as it flew upwards. The varied people watching, they would go along after and say how no one of them even saw her move it was all so quick.

The gloved knuckles of her fist impacted solidly into the soft flesh of the hunter's throat, just where his helmet only barely covered his chin and left the expanse of his neck between his chin and his collarbone exposed. The sound of his windpipe snapping cracked loudly, dully in the still silence of the moment. Kastiel explained slowly, "Your helmet's too small for your big head. Leaves too much of your neck bare and easy to reach."

Zank Helrott choked and heaved, both his hands flying up to grab against the bruised burst of pain in his tender throat. He tried dragging in some new breaths but he only gagged, gurgled and choked even more. He slowly sank downwards, until he knelt on both knees in front of Kastiel. But she didn't stop, not for a moment. She only stepped close enough to yank at the buckles securing Zank's helmet to his head and pulled the entire thing straight off his face.

Zank looked up at Kastiel from his kneeling position, his human features bare and ruddy, flushed from the lack of oxygen. His brown hair was sweat-damp and sticking straight up into the air, and tears seemed to be falling down from his round, panicked gray eyes. He looked almost begging to her, almost. For mercy, kindness, something.

Around them the crowd widened, until the gaping witnesses circling their small group was large and quiet. Several chirps and twitters of sound came at them from several strangely-shaped vocal cords, but any conversation was dull and hushed. Everyone was still, all of them curious and frightened in turns as they watched the confrontation.

Kastiel shook her head, focused on Zank's sad, large frame kneeling in front of her. She stayed solid and unmoving, "I meant it, see. And you … You're just my validation. You're the one they'll remember." Kastiel raised up the helmet high over her head, its curved lines glimmering in the brilliant wash of colored lights from the signs and marketplace signs of the Promenade. The thing made a horrible thudding noise against the side of Zank Helrott's big, beefy, obviously stupid-looking skull, as Kastiel smashed it into his head. Again. Then again.

Until the very end of the small braid that extended down along the side of her face, that only barely brushed the scars that marked her skin was dripping with the blood from the man's thick head. And the onlookers slowly, slowly backed away into whatever nook and cranny of the Promenade they managed to locate that was at least far away from Kastiel Blade. They tried hiding from her notice and attention, tried moving away from her line of sight.

Kastiel grunted, tossing the blood-splashed helmet towards the rear-end of one particularly skinny-looking Evocii, skinny as hell to begin with actually. This one was even more rail-thin than the rest of his race, though. And he yowled and jumped straight up into the air when that helmet went skidding along the floor near his feet. Kastiel shouted at the lot of them, at every one of the retreating mass of crowd and curious bystanders, "Don't mess with me!" She panted slowly as she watched them go, and only Gaibriel pressing himself into her back kept her grounded there in place.

Corso breathed out slowly, shocked nearly silent, "Fuck me …" Kastiel shrugged towards him, ignoring the slow slide of blood droplets against the side of her face. She smiled, "Not likely, actually. Pretty sure my monkey-lizard likes you more than I do. Maybe not so much as my little brother does, though."

Gaibriel leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest, and he watched. Lucky him, the glow of flashing light from the blinking advertisement on the wall just alongside where he was situated simply and easily obscured them both from anyone who might glance towards their very own corner of the cantina. Theirs, because Kastiel growled and tapped her blaster just long enough that the poor sods who were loitering there before practically stumbled over themselves to leave the spot to them.

Talk about claiming a bit of territory, Gaibriel laughed.

Now Kastiel only subtly waved her gloved hand towards the agent. The fucking-ass Imperial gods-damned agent! Gaibriel bit the inside of his lip, watching him. No one else would've really seen him for what he was, not right then. He looked far more like one of the prettier playboys who ventured to Nar Shaddaa for a bit of pleasure and marked fun, the ones who tossed credits around like it was so simple an adventure and basically pissed all over any and every one of the regular denizens of the city-planet who desperately eeked some sort of day-by-day survival from the crap-assed world.

His hair was ink-black and gleaming in the violet wash of glowing light in the cantina, flashing with red and purple hues from the show on the stage and the dancers on their poles all around the room, and his eyes were dark, almost black in the low light around the table where he was leaning. But Gaib knew those eyes were brown like the rich earth of Dromund Kaas, sullen and dark. Every so often the agent leaned closer to the slender twi'lek he was talking to, brushed her nose with his own so that she could better hear him over the pounding pulse of music in the room.

His hand on top of the table was wrapped around a glass of something blue and tangy-looking, a cocktail of some sort. Rather than any sort of harder liquor which might have truly incapacitated his senses straight-off, mind you. And his other hand was lost somewhere underneath the table, probably tantalizing the twi'lek's pretty blue thigh. But close as hells to whatever weapon he was surely carrying against his side, most like.

Gaibriel grunted, "He looks …" Kastiel lifted her chin, letting the implants thickly tucked inside her ear that Gaibriel could just discern against the side of her head gleam brightly purple for a single long moment. It still stunned him when he saw how much damage was done to her, how hard she'd fought for them. How hard she kept fighting all this time, too.

"He looks like Da, yea. Not sure what he's doing here, makes beelines to Shadowtown pretty regular-like. Looked into it once I knew he was on-planet and where he was moving 'round … which was a fucked decision." Kastiel scowled, self-recrimination sliding across her face, "That bit of tenements watches back, mind you. Steer clear."

Gaib frowned over at her, "You in trouble?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed. Put to use, even." Kastiel shrugged, "May need your help later, is all."

Gaibriel didn't really respond. He turned back to regarding the Agent again, watched him playing the game with the pretty twi'lek. Imperial Intelligence was a cruel and harsh bitch of a master that few managed to survive, and those who did tended to be marked and broken to fucking pieces before all was said and done. Gaibriel was not pleased to find his own damned brother happily wading through that particular shit and crap and stinking load of mess.

But still. He wasn't alone anymore. Gaib had found them. Found them! It was everything important! And the sting of moisture behind his lens-lacking eyes was brilliant hard, so that he blinked rapidly to bite back the tears. Then he fell back on laughing, because it was still easier to laugh than to fucking cry like a fucking baby right then. "I used to come to Nar Shaddaa for the pretty lights and the prettier ladies. Now all I do 'round here is bust my ass working."

Kas didn't laugh along with him. She just got him. Because of course his sister would see him, know him, no matter how many jokes slid out of his mouth like breaths on the air. She only turned sideways, eased her hard, armored shoulder into Gaibriel's side and practically buried her forehead into that soft place under his arm, right up against his ribs. He held onto her, just held her. Listened to her murmuring just loud enough for only him to hear, "I never stopped looking, Gaib. Never." Then she lifted her face up, stared into Gaibriel's eyes. Blue as sin eyes, and glinting in the flash of the cantina's showy lights. Her chin clenched tight, "And Khyriel paid for it. He paid."

Gaibriel looked back towards the agent again, watched him. He understood what his sister told him. Because no one who's father dressed himself in that straight, neat of a uniform could ever fail to understand the cost it demanded. "The fucking Empire. With their fucking castes, and everyone in their fucking proper place. Cutting each other's throats, just for another step up." Then he grinned down at his sister, "Hey! They've got no idea we're already looking up their skirts and gettin' ready to yank down their drawers, to boot. Should be fun!"

Smuggler's Cant

"Till you go off making damned friends, you fucking joker" - A "friend" refers to unwanted attention, or agro of some sort. To "joke" is to pilot or drive in a reckless fashion. Wicks was basically admonishing Gaibriel for getting even more attention from those already hunting for him.

"Just some bones, Wicks" - A "bone" is a bit of reputation, some merit as a smuggler. The more "bones" a smuggler earned, the more likely he was to garner new business.

"Wrap up things here on the Fine Lady herself." - Nar Shaddaa was often referred to as "The Fine Lady". It's one of Gaibriel's favorite planets, and he will always appreciate being on the world.

"Just tell me you got a twenty on that hammock" - "To get a twenty" is to complete a particular job without complications, while a "hammock" was a really desirable business transaction. Gaib was asking if Andronikus was freed without overt complication.

"Nikki needs some time on the Beach, now. He's playing old soldier, if you ask me." - "The Beach" refers to the planet of Tattooine. "Playing old soldier" is to act without regard for tactics or strategy. Wicks is saying he got Andronikus to Tattooine. But Andronikus' plans are reckless and crude.

"They scratched him good!" - Here, Wicks is remarking that Andronikus was gravely mistreated, beaten badly and/or abused.

"You've got deuces and sevens enough, yourself." - "Deuces and sevens" is serious bad luck, or even failure. Wicks is worried Gaibriel is in trouble.

"serious bad breath" - Untrustworthy. The real bad guy, in other words.

"Rogun's just rubbing his bones, here." - Gaibriel is basically arguing, that Rogun is only trying to save face in light of Skavak's insult and double-cross.

"Now there're mynocks looking to buy you some fucking tea" - A "mynock" was a bounty hunter, while "buying tea" meant to attack and kill someone. Wicks is warning Gaibriel, that there are bounties out asking for him to be killed.

"Got a fin yet?" - To have a "fin" meant you understood, comprehended.

"I know your fuel." - A person's "fuel" is their motive, what drives them. Wicks is assuring Gaibriel he understands what's eating at him, at his psyche. Why he behaves the way he does.

"And make the Kessel off the Fine Lady" - "To make the Kessel" means to leave the surface, to flee or run away. Wicks was telling Gaibriel to leave Nar Shaddaa quickly.

Please, please note!

Gaibriel is the only one of my characters who truly walked a fine line of self-destruction. His addiction(s) were serious enough, but they were based firmly in the trauma of his life experience. Suicidal thoughts and tendencies are sometimes manifested in addiction-type behavior, with sufferers struggling with higher than normal rates of drinking, drug use and sexual promiscuity. I am not, not trying to make light of such pain! But rather to highlight it, that even a hero can struggle sometimes and win over his pain in the end. It's a long, terrible process, and Gaibriel is only starting his healing, here.

If you ever struggle with fear and pain, ever ever think of harming yourself or anyone else please, please, please talk to someone! There is nothing wrong, ever with asking for help, for reaching out to others for guidance and support! The National Suicide Prevention Hotline can be found at 1-800-273-8255. They can be reached 24/7 every single day, and they truly want to help!

Please! You are not alone, you are not strange or weird, you are not unwanted or unloved! So many people have walked the same road, and found a good place in the end. Believe me! Biggest hugs and so many prayers, just for you!