(no subject)
It was a dark and stormy night.
The smoke in the tapcaf was enough to choke a bantha. Not just one--a whole herd of them. Corran Horn coughed quietly to clear his throat, and he took another look--or was it a squint?--around the cantina.
In a side booth in a different area of the cantina, a familiar man catches his glance, then keeps his own conversation going. Not even a glimmer of recognition; Dad's really got the whole undercover rendezvous thing down. Corran keeps his glance moving, staying off that booth as much as possible. His job is simple here: Every CorSec agent needs a backup in situations like this--that's what the whole partner system was for. And no one was better at working informants than Hal Horn--and tonight, he had a pair to work with.
He reviews the denizens of the cantina again. Two Selonians in the corner, immersed in some sort of holographic board game; a Sullustan in a debate with the bartender, and what appear to be a table full of mechanics swapping horror stories. And a lone Trandoshan, fresh in the door...
The younger Horn frowns. His gut knotted up when the Trandoshan walked in, and his instincts were often good. He keeps a careful glance on the towering, lizard-like humanoid, mentally comparing his face to dozens of outstanding warrants in CorSec's database. He seems... familiar somehow.
The Trandoshan stops at the bar for a mug of lum and sits there for several long minutes. The wrench in Corran's gut tightens progressively with every passing minute, as Corran can't figure out why the lizard-man looks familiar...
And then it hits him, as the Trandoshan is turning around. Bossk. That's the bounty hunter Bossk. What's he doing here? His stomach drops into his feet as the 7-foot being turns from the bar--Corran's hand goes to his blaster--
And so does Bossk's. In two huge steps, he's in front of a booth with three men: the booth where Hal is having his meeting. Hal looks up at the larger lizard man, just in time to see him pull a heavy blaster from his belt holster.
"Dad!" Corran leaps up and draws his blaster, trying to warn his partner and father--
And Bossk pulls the trigger, scything the blaster back and forth across the booth, first killing the informants--and then catches Hal in the fire with three bolts to the chest. The CorSec officer slumps out of the booth, and Bossk turns and walks out the door.
Corran freezes for a moment. What do I do? Do I pursue him? What about Dad? It takes split-second to make the decision, and Corran drops his weapon and bolts towards the booth--towards his mortally wounded father.
He slides to his knees, and cradles his father's head in his lap. Hal looks up, his eyes glazing over, but still apparently conscious enough to recognize his son. He even smiles a little--an odd gesture for a dying man.
"Cor-Corran."
He swallows, and fights back tears. "I'm--'m here, Dad."
Hal blinks slowly, and his jaw works open and closed like a fish out of water. "C-Cor..." Before he can complete the thought, Hal's eyes glaze completely, and his dead weight presses into Corran's thigh.
It's only then that Corran notices the burning tears running down his cheeks. What's not clear to him is whether the tears are of devastation... or fury. As the seconds pass, though, his feelings begin to favor the latter. When more CorSec agents and the medics arrive several long minutes later to clean up the scene, he stands, his face a determined stone mask, turns and stalks out the door, into the cold night air.
In pursuit of Bossk.
The smoke in the tapcaf was enough to choke a bantha. Not just one--a whole herd of them. Corran Horn coughed quietly to clear his throat, and he took another look--or was it a squint?--around the cantina.
In a side booth in a different area of the cantina, a familiar man catches his glance, then keeps his own conversation going. Not even a glimmer of recognition; Dad's really got the whole undercover rendezvous thing down. Corran keeps his glance moving, staying off that booth as much as possible. His job is simple here: Every CorSec agent needs a backup in situations like this--that's what the whole partner system was for. And no one was better at working informants than Hal Horn--and tonight, he had a pair to work with.
He reviews the denizens of the cantina again. Two Selonians in the corner, immersed in some sort of holographic board game; a Sullustan in a debate with the bartender, and what appear to be a table full of mechanics swapping horror stories. And a lone Trandoshan, fresh in the door...
The younger Horn frowns. His gut knotted up when the Trandoshan walked in, and his instincts were often good. He keeps a careful glance on the towering, lizard-like humanoid, mentally comparing his face to dozens of outstanding warrants in CorSec's database. He seems... familiar somehow.
The Trandoshan stops at the bar for a mug of lum and sits there for several long minutes. The wrench in Corran's gut tightens progressively with every passing minute, as Corran can't figure out why the lizard-man looks familiar...
And then it hits him, as the Trandoshan is turning around. Bossk. That's the bounty hunter Bossk. What's he doing here? His stomach drops into his feet as the 7-foot being turns from the bar--Corran's hand goes to his blaster--
And so does Bossk's. In two huge steps, he's in front of a booth with three men: the booth where Hal is having his meeting. Hal looks up at the larger lizard man, just in time to see him pull a heavy blaster from his belt holster.
"Dad!" Corran leaps up and draws his blaster, trying to warn his partner and father--
And Bossk pulls the trigger, scything the blaster back and forth across the booth, first killing the informants--and then catches Hal in the fire with three bolts to the chest. The CorSec officer slumps out of the booth, and Bossk turns and walks out the door.
Corran freezes for a moment. What do I do? Do I pursue him? What about Dad? It takes split-second to make the decision, and Corran drops his weapon and bolts towards the booth--towards his mortally wounded father.
He slides to his knees, and cradles his father's head in his lap. Hal looks up, his eyes glazing over, but still apparently conscious enough to recognize his son. He even smiles a little--an odd gesture for a dying man.
"Cor-Corran."
He swallows, and fights back tears. "I'm--'m here, Dad."
Hal blinks slowly, and his jaw works open and closed like a fish out of water. "C-Cor..." Before he can complete the thought, Hal's eyes glaze completely, and his dead weight presses into Corran's thigh.
It's only then that Corran notices the burning tears running down his cheeks. What's not clear to him is whether the tears are of devastation... or fury. As the seconds pass, though, his feelings begin to favor the latter. When more CorSec agents and the medics arrive several long minutes later to clean up the scene, he stands, his face a determined stone mask, turns and stalks out the door, into the cold night air.
In pursuit of Bossk.