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The Caamasi Case

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  • The Caamasi Case

    Rolling were the engines of the Firespray-31 Sol as she slid through the generated atmosphere and settled on the landing pad, scratched and worn and seemingly kept together for her age alone. Despite how poor her condition seemed, the Sol was in surprisingly good shape. Her engines were smooth, her stabilisers unspoilt and her weapons in peak condition. Such as it was that Teru was content with to leave her as she was. The wear showed history.

    The Sol's boarding ramp extended and, donned in his black duster, Teru Air strode out and down into the small open hanger (which was little more than a few landing pads and a control booth), a WESTAR-34 tucked away in his inside pocket and a lit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. His face was expressionless as he surveyed his surroundings. Caamas had been all but destroyed in recent years from the Sith's attacks, and in their wake they had left but a husk of barren dystopia, an eroded desert of dirt, dust and death.

    Over twenty years on and the few native Camaasi 'lucky' enough to survive had begun the rebuild with the help of neighbouring Core World planets. On the dried up sphere of pain and graves, a small civilisation had begun to bloom under the dome of an artificial atmosphere - a settlement that, other than its Core Worlds trade network code, had no name - wherein they had succeeded in growing their own food, manage their own water production and start a humble trade system with other planets. So far, it was not especially impressive, but to consider what the people had been through the last few decades, it was admirable indeed.

    The day was bright, and the wasteland of the outer landscape reflected further light into the encased colony. He did not like it here. It felt... claustrophobic. Teru squinted from the brightness as he entered the main part of the town. Though it was not quite as bustling, it could have been compared to Mos Eisley on a holiday. As a result, the bounty would be a challenge. Too many places to hide. Varoo'ayo. The Rodian's name and face cycled in his mind as he took his time strolling towards the town's market. Teru's face scrunched at the realisation that it would be a long day. Was this small fry really worth all this hassle for 5,000 credits?

    Sig by Sat.
    Wiki Page | Teru's Theme | Roll Call

  • #2
    A double handful of cool water splashed against Jamie’s reddening skin that burned under the harsh heat of Caamas’ blistering sun. How anyone could live in the decrepit conditions they did, was beyond her. Then again, this was their home. Falling apart or not, it was admirable what they were doing here. What they had done, already. In that same vein, it didn't mean she had to like the place, either. Jamie couldn't wait to finish this mission and haul-tail off planet. With another splash of water, the evening sleepies fell from her eyes and face, excess droplets dribbling down her chin and caught by a firm ‘pat’ of a white handkerchief procured from the pocket of her flight suit. Which, still had a little bit of space dirt on it as evidence of the night’s misadventure. Jamie's chest rose and heaved a heavy sigh, shoving away the used cloth napkin in a crumpled up ball in her pocket. She was still reeling, and had already slathered on a treatment of bacta to a blaster wound on her upper thigh. The throbbing in the damaged area was minimal, barely a surface scratch. A nuisance mostly…

    She’d survived worse.

    Tasked by the NR, El-Eison was given an off the books mission to provide witness protection for a Rodian informant. Whispers of a slave revolt against Hutts and their debts had been spreading like wildfire across the galactic front, and Varoo’ayo was somehow at the center of it all. Jamie didn’t have the clearance level to know more than that, and honestly? She didn’t want to. All she knew, was that the call of duty had interrupted her dinner night.

    Then of course bounties followed, and with them the hunters crying for their piece of the prize.

    Jamie inwardly grimaced. The sooner she made Varoo'ayo disappear, the better.

    Caamas had been their final checkpoint: a rest area to load on some much needed supplies and fuel. But missions never ran smooth as butter and cracks in the pavement were bound to set them off course, and wouldn’t you know it? Out of the four hundred red squares on the holo map, the bloodhound hunter chose this one to land on. She wasn't certain, but if that chill of danger which trickled down between her shoulder blades was any indicator, then he was.

    Being a fighter pilot had taught her, you trust your instincts.

    "Move." she whispered, blue eyes scanning the scene and fingers gently grabbing the Rodian’s elbow. With a tug, Jamie turned them around, gliding through the crowded market place in a back and forth weave toward a bustling Cantina. It was the obvious hide out choice, but for good reason: there was a bountiful selection of nooks and crannies where one could conceal themselves without much fuss. Also, one had to count the fact that their list of places to cry 'sanctuary' in, was actually severely limited in number.

    The Cantina it was.
    Last edited by Jamie Perris; 06-04-2015, 01:29 AM.

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