Opening thread

 Bondo had been heading for a drinking establishment, called the Bantha Spit. It was one of the many watering holes that dotted  the landscape in Mos Eisley. He was running low on credits, and the cost of living was high, especially for one that was on the run, Like Bondo was. He was hoping to take on work as a guard, or some such.

 The ex-Imperial  Storm Trooper had seen the white clad troopers here and there most days, but for some reason, on this day, they were everywhere.  Bondo watched the Troopers at a check point, from the concealment of some crates in an alley. They were checking I.D.s and even searching some  individuals. Bondo had no I.D. well, not one that would pass an Imperial scrutiny. He had to get some place to lay low.

 He faded back into the end of the alley, with the intention of slipping away, but just then, an imperial patrol was heading  his direction. Bondo ducked into the rear entrance of some dive bar, and found himself in a cramped kitchen , with an alien cook glaring at him.

     "What are you doing, Human?  Get out of my kitchen!  You're unsanitary!" the grizzled Mon Calamari insisted, waving a ladle that splashed some yellow goo across the room.  There was a young Mon Calamari nearby who was chopping some kind of tentacle.  Beyond him was a half-door that seemed to lead out into the main bar.  There was some kind of jazzy music playing beyond.

 Bondo pulled his floppy hat down and headed for the door that led into the bar. “ Don’t worry about it, just heading for a drink.”

     Barreling into the bar, Bondo collided with a Sullustan female waitress who had been on her way into the kitchen.  Her tray of empty glasses went flying and shattered on the floor, causing the music to stop.

     "Un nay tok wihmay yunik!" she screeched unhappily.  A few patrons started laughing, but a Gammorean stood up and grunted at Bondo as he started to waddle over.

 The unhappy Mon Calamari cook scolded Bondo, as he passed through into the bar proper. It seemed that whatever fate that guided Bondo where not pleased with him, as evidenced by the waitress plowing into him and sending glasses every which way.

  Bondo reached for a belt pouch to try and offer some of his few remaining credits, to calm her down, but then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned that way to confront an unhappy looking Gammorean, heading his way. The very last thing, the very last, he wanted, was to get tangled up with a Gammorean. He would lose any physical confrontation, and using his blaster could start a fire fight in the bar, sure to draw the Imperials.

 A sudden desperate thought came into Bondo’s mind. It was worth the gamble, and it if payed off, he would be hidden. “Hutt Business. I am on Hutt Business; can you get me to Zandrixx without our uninvited guests in armor finding me?” Bondo asked anyone that might be listening.

 This dust ball they were on fell into Hutt space. While there was an n imperial governor and a token garrison, everyone knew who really ran things on Tantooine. Zandrixx was a sneaky, no account Poodoo of a Besalisk, which smoked cheap cigars and drank cheap booze. But he was Jabba the Hut’s Underboss in Mos Eisley. Nothing entered or left the Space Port, without Zandrixx getting a piece of it. All Bars, gambling dens, Lair’s of ill repute, etc. all paid protection to Jabba through Zandrixx.

 Bondo had done some local work as an Enforcer and debt collector before. But even so, he was taking a huge chance in using the Underboss’s name. He might end up being the new attraction in the Fighting Pits or worse, but he had little choice.

     The mention of the Hutts and Zandrixx gave the Gamorean and the waitress pause.

     "Zandrixx?  How do you know Zandrixx?" came a gentle and calm voice nearby.  Bondo turned and saw an tall Azanti sucking on a tube.  He seemed partially drugged or at least very relaxed.



     The Gamorean glanced at the Azanti, as if awaiting orders.  The waitress hurried to gather up most of the broken glasses and continued into the kitchen.

 The mention of Jabba the Hut had the desired effect. It froze the Gamorean in his tracks. It got looks from the bar patrons, because you did not speak of these things lightly, in these parts. Then a smoking Azanti wanted to know how Bondo knew Zandrixx. From the way piggy face looked at the Azanti, the soft spoken one was someone with some juice.

 The ex-Imperial walked slowly over to where the Azanti was seated. Bondo kept his arms wide and hands open, as he did such.  In a tone of voice he hoped only the Azanti could hear. “I am one of his people, an Enforcer. I need to avoid the Imps outside, so I can get back and report in. Can you assist me?”
This message was last edited by the player at 17:22, Sun 06 Aug 2017.

     The Azanti remained standing at the bar and seemed barely lucid.  Bondo noticed what looked like a brain floating in the spherical jar from which he was smoking.

     The musicians started playing again and the conversations in the bar started to continue in hushed tones.  Most everyone seemed suspicious of Bondo now.

     The Azanti glanced Bondo over, then leaned in a little closer.  "Moisture vaporators are hard to fix in the dark," he said.  Bondo got the feeling it was some kind of code.

 Bondo knew this code, it was just like Zandrixx to make up something like that." So you rent them a glow rod and make a profit."

     The Azanti nodded slowly with an appreciative sigh, then waved the Gamorean away.

     "I am Trannis.  Tell me where you need to go, and I can have a speeder truck here in five clicks," he said.

 The Azanti's words where like the two sides of a Vibro blade. On the one hand, he might have a way to save his ass, but the other side was he would anger the Underboss Zandrixx,and end up worse for wear. But it was chance he had to take, for a maybe was better then an imperial definate.

 Bondo forced a smile in response to the others words. " I need to get to Zandrixx. I know he moves around sometimes, so just get me to his primary haunt."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:33, Fri 11 Aug 2017.

     Trannis lifted a comlink from his belt and muttered a few words in Azant.  Returning it to his belt, he puffed on his pipe and then lazily looked at Bondo.

     "Is all this increased hardshell activity because of you?  Seems like alot for one man," he whispered.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:37, Sat 12 Aug 2017.

 Bondo waved the Bar tender over, as he spoke with his new found savior. “What’s going on out there? That has nothing to do with me, Sir. Those are not local Imps, one can tell that by how clean they are and actually act like they know what they are doing.” Bondo then realized he might be saying too much about what he knew about IMPS.

 He decided to change the tune of the conversation.” I bet they stay up half the night scrubbing and polishing their armor. I would not be surprised that their officers grooms themselves in the reflection of the trooper’s armor.” Bondo said with an amused tone of voice.

     Trannis chuckled and nodded.  "Indeed.  Their ego is often their downfall," he said with a smile, puffing on his pipe once more.

     Outside, Bondo heard the whine of a hover-truck coming to a stop.  Trannis glanced lazily toward the front entrance.  "Your ride is here.  Garthunk will take you to Zandrixx.  If you ever need help in Mos Eisley, don't hesitate to contact me," he said lazily, handing Bondo a com-card.

 Bondo took the Com-Card and slipped it into his pocket. “ Thank you for the assistance.” The ex-Imp nodded to the pipe smoking alien, and then headed out to the transport.

     Outside he found a sand-stained VB-46 Driftright Landspeeder.  In the covered driver's seat was a slender Besalisk, with one left arm hanging out the window, the other left arm on the steering column, one right hand picking his teeth, and the other right hand holding up a semi-reflective piece of metal.  He glanced at Bondo and glanced up up and down as he tossed the metal over his shoulder into the open cargo bed, where it landed among other random pieces of junk.

     "You looking for a ride?" he asked, almost leering at him eagerly.  He drummed his left hand against the door in a repeating pattern.