Bargain Hunting: That time on Reach of the Empire when IG-88 tried to assassinate Boba Fett…
Merchant District <Ord Mantell>
This seaside city sits on a rugged hill on the shore of a salty harbor, beneath a fruit cocktail sky. A broad street, thick with pedestrian traffic, sidewalk musicians and pickpockets, runs along the hillside, connecting the city’s various districts to the sprawling spaceport facility.
The buildings of the merchant, casino and tavern districts are domed cylinders of different heights and widths. All of them have the appearance of painted and glazed pottery, with ruddy walls ringed by geometric designs.
In the east, barely contained within an encircling metal fence, stands the infamous Ord Mantell junkyard.
R8-0N turns its domed top towards the auctioneer a moment, then back, recording all its scans into its memory banks, its light flicking from blue to red under its optic sensor.
Warlugg turns its beady black eyes towards the auctioneer and seems to consider the item up for bid. The Gamorrean grunts, but doesn’t make any move to bid on the item.
Kron looks at the stuff on the auction block and waits abit, for something that she has her eye on
As absolutely nobody bids on the item, the auctioneer sighs. “Oh, fine! We’ll skip that one. Next up, I have a brace of thermal detonators. Four of them, each one capable of knocking through a ship’s hull or vaporizing a dozen opponents. I’ll start the bidding at a low seven thousand for the set. Can I get seventy-five?”
Bindah Morposs gawks at Rikal. He stands there, unmoving and silent as the cyberneticist raves on about Reward Points and what have you. His jaw works, though this time no secret messages are transmitted; merely the actions of a stunned Aqualish. The shirt is caught in a gust of wind and slips carelessly to the ground. The auction? Ignored for now.
Vadi Solis looks down at a datapad attached to her belt. Had the helmet of her powersuit not been in the way, a frown would be visible. She looks back up to the auctioneer, but makes no move to bid. She evidently does not notice Boba Fett nor IG-88 enter the auction area.
Boba Fett leans against a storefront. He faces the auctioneer, and raises his hand to place a bid.
Warlugg raises its beefy right arm, the one holding the vibro-ax, and shakes it towards the auctioneer while letting out a snort.
With measured, mechanical and purposeful steps, the small hydraulic pistons and electronic servos whirring softly, the assassin droid IG-88 enters the merchant district and swivels its cylindrical head to observe the auction in progress. It activates a sensor suite, scanning the crowd as the droid’s heavy repeating blaster clicks to active – but neutral – mode.
Boba Who? IG-What? Rikal’s never heard of them, and in this sea of pure testosterone and bad-ass-ity, Rikal wouldn’t be able to distinguish them from the rest of ‘that type’ here. Rikal watches his shirt fly away and frowns as it is trampled by the mass of people watching the auction “You never seemed like a wool kinda guy anyway… more cotton. Someone’ll pick it up hopefully. You still got craploads of rewards point. Next time you come in I’ll show you the catalog. Absoutely /fab/ gifts.”
“Seventy five? Seventy six! Do I hear seventy-seven? You’ll not get a better deal than this for these fine specimens of explosive power.” This is the auctioneer’s line, his jowls moving as he speaks into the droid that functions as a mic holder.