Because Zechs Happens

[Zechs Merquise]

Stepping out of the relative coolness of a shaded alley, Zechs took one last acceptable breathe as he emerged onto Mos whatevers sandy and oppressive street. The suns beat down upon him worse than any Imperial temper tantrum. His hand rose to his already moist brow. The things he did for stupid.

[Zasabi Ray]

The Klatoonian's glare was almost as strong as the sun hanging high in the sky, but thankfully nowhere near as oppressive. Raising a rusted and ill-kept blaster, he leveled it at Zasabi while passerby reacted as one did on Tatooine- by staying well out of the lane of fire and going about their business.

Hands raised, Zasabi backed away from the man, stepping right into a stranger emerging from the dark alley he had hoped to flee into.

[Annan Rainwalker]

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
— ✵ —
Mos Oscuras, Tatooine
Tatoo system, Arkanis sector
Spice Triangle, Outer Rim Territories

The last place Annan had expected he'd end up was back on every scoundrel's favourite gigantic sandball this side of the Triellus, but here he was. The package he needed to procure was small. Just because something was small, however, did not render it any less important. For you see, a significant portion of the Kingsmaker Protocols depended on his acquisition of said small package, and its subsequent safe delivery to Captain Mertaal's fleet on Florrum. At least, that's what Captain Rys had told him, and Rys had received her orders from Admiral Brakken himself.

According to the mission parameters detailed in the code cylinder Annan had received while docked at the BSP Cresh-class facility in the Arkanis sector, said small package was in the possession of a certain Klatoonian. One that the cloaked Firrerreo, from his current position within the shadows at the far end of an unostentatious and discreet alley this side of Mos Oscuras, had in his line of exceptional sight. Of course, he had to admit he was mildly annoyed at the two random blokes that had shown up to unintentionally interrupt his time-sensitive operati--

'Wait, isn't that Zechs? From the Ranch?'

[Zechs Merquise]

Zechs stopped by a street vendor right outside the alley and bought some assorted meat on a stick. Tender yet rough. Savory yet packed in salt. Much like the world around it.

He had heard rumors, whispers really, of an infestation but had seen no signs. In fact if anything, things seemed peaceful, at ease, except for the occasional life. Then a guy bumped into him and caused him to drop his lunch.

[Zasabi Ray]

Zasabi's feet tangled with the stranger's, turning into a near uncontrolled fall that landed him flat on his back in the dust. His mouth had been open to protest the Klatoonian's aggressive behavior when, as if falling from the heavens, a skewer of fried meat filled his gullet.

He took a bite, once out of mere surprise and the a second time out of consideration. Salty, but tender. Looking past the skewer to the stranger above him, then back to the Klatoonian who seemed to be as confused as anyone, he offered a simple shrug before swallowing.

"Sorry. Pretty good though."

[Zechs Merquise]

Zechs pulled a well worn flask out of his coat's pocket, twisted off the top with a lovely slightly irritating metal on metal cry, and took a sip of the berry brew from a minor winery on Naboo with a slight after bite. "Even better covered up." He extended the flask towards the stranger. In a way as an acceptance of the accident hardly worth mentioning.

Then it hit him. The after bite. A sour note as if a gungan had given you mouth to mouth after brushing its teeth. Zechs would never tell how he knew that.

[Zasabi Ray]

Zasabi accepted the flask, taking a swig and immediately regretting it. The stranger might have a decent enough taste for street food, but his taste in alcohol was near nightmarish. Sputtering, he rolled to a prone position and rose unsteadily to his feet.

This was all it took for the Klatoonian to remember why he was mad to begin with.

"Hey! This isn't over just beca-Gwah!?"

The surprise he felt must have been immense to show on the outside of the usually impassive Klatoonian face. Zasabi had closed to striking distance, one hand parrying the blaster aside to point at an adobe wall while the other lanced forth to jam a stick of spiced meat into the alien's mouth.

"Hey, you gotta pay for that!" protested the vendor.