Recruit

Chapter 1: Some Kind of Gang

You rush through the back door of the cantina, huffing, your boots clanking with the chains you added years ago. Ripping your jacket off, you quickly stick your head through the door of your boss, Kelba's office, which is full of old security screens, showing live footage of the kitchen, the bar, and the dining floor.

"Hey, sorry, I was listening to two guys talk about you in the alley. I didn't recognize them, but it didn't sound like anything meaningful. Anyway, sorry I'm late."

He just waves you out with a flick of his fat fingers, the light shining off his sweaty bald head.

You grab your little apron, wrap the straps around, and adjust your shirt so your breasts nearly spill out- you really need some good tips tonight, it's been a rough month. Normally there's plenty of work- if you want to call it that. This neighborhood in Coronet City, where you live your life here on Corellia, is crawling with criminal activity. So, you make it your job to learn everyone's business, mostly observing but sometimes beating it out of people. Kelba's cantina is the perfect place for you to conduct your side business. As long as he gets a cut of some of the deals that go down here, he doesn't bat and eye, allowing nearly every kind of illegal activity.

Leaning against the wall behind the bar, you catch your breath. No one is seated in your section yet, so you take a moment to relax, looking at the patrons around you. There's not many here right now, but hopefully it will pick up. Your favorite coworker, Jenna, flitters between her three tables on graceful feet, pretending not to listen to her patrons. She does a lot less 'side work' than you because she's actually good at waitressing and bartending, unlike yourself. Your temper is just too hot to handle rude customers. 

Your eyes follow two large, black clad men, wearing strange helmets, walk through the door and sit down in your section. You let out a huff of breath and push yourself off the wall, working your muscles to plaster on a fake smile. Your clanking boots are nearly drowned in the loud noises around you. People clanking silverware, talking, arguing. 

As you approach the table, a strange nervousness overcomes your senses. But you can't understand where it would come from. Nothing about them seems unusual- it's not uncommon for people to hide their faces. You take a deep breath to calm your heart as you look between the two, fake smile glued to your face, waiting for them to take their helmets off. They don't.

"I take it you two won't be dining this evening?"

You look back and forth between them. Both black masks have slightly humanoid features, and both look crude and cheap. You think for a second that you recognize a piece of one of the masks, but quickly dispel the thought. The other is more skull-like and the wearer has a hood that descends over the shoulders, down the chest. If you had to guess, you'd say they're both male. You watch the creepier helmet scan down your body, resting on your chained boots... which have a reputation around here. You smirk. They know exactly who you are.

Thank the gods, I really need the credits.

"What can I do for you?" you ask in a business-like tone to cover your excitement.

"We're looking for someone. You're the jingler, right?"

The voice is soft like velvet, but forceful, even from under the mask. Definitely male. You reach out behind you, confidently pulling up a chair and sitting down, making your boots rattle as you do so. But behind your blind confidence, you're uneasy. The energy of these two is making you uncomfortable.

"I might be the jingler. And my tongue would be much looser with some credits in my hands."

"You'll get what you deserve."

You realize the smooth voice is coming from the more terrifying, reaper mask, with the hood. You look at him- where you expect his eyes to be, anyway.