It Doesn't Really Matter

Nar Shaddaa

Nar Shaddaa,

Haven for pretty much any kind of criminal activity. It was the perfect hiding spot for someone like Riggeth, who up until recently, was on a mission to demolish every imperial occupied bar and social ring he had come across in planets now under control of the Empire.

Whenever he committed a crime, he never took credit for it. It was extremely dangerous for someone like a Lasat to even be walking among other civilians anywhere across the galaxy. His existence itself was a crime punishable by death under the oppressive hand of the Emperor. A crime nobody seemed to care enough about.

Despite trying to keep his identity under wraps as much as he possibly could, this didn't stop him from getting irritated when his face ended up getting linked to the infamous Garazeb Orrelios of the equally infamous Ghost crew.

They didn't look alike at all, but the Empire had been desperate to smear that Zeb fellow's name across every galactic channel in order to sway the public that he was some blood-thirsty anarchist, which Riggeth was more than Zeb.

His ambitions and morals not given a moment's thought, but merely used as fodder to promote propaganda towards Lasat being primitive, dangerous animals who acted only on primal instincts. Riggeth liked the way things were before, when he hadn't become an example for his entire race. He thought by leaving his home planet, he could escape Lasan, but it only followed him, like an angry spirit trying to goad him into fighting their war.

He'd have none of that. He left to escape politics, and make a life for himself without the bonds of Lasan's strict societal standards and needs weighing heavily on his back. That was one of the few reasons Garazeb Orrelios annoyed him. His ties to their traditions, his proud wearing of Lasan's Honor Guard clothes, his Bo-rifle, his entire image reminded him of what he had tried leaving behind. Now it was in his face constantly, taking credit for his work, and paraded around Imperial channels for everyone to see. He was sick of it.

He felt an immense need to get outside of his makeshift hideout for air, but there was no clean oxygen of any sort on Nar Shaddaa. It felt the same indoors as it did out. 'Relax Riggs, just one more week in this hellhole and back to business' he thought to himself, peeking out from his barred off window. He could see the flashing lights and heavy smoke waft into busy sidewalks, as every kind of alien from every kind of background rubbed shoulders with each other, always looking in a hurry.

Riggeth was in a hurry too, but he knew the consequences of rushing ahead. While the solitude was suitable, he had hoped he'd get at least one job his entire stay on Nar Shaddaa, but while his skills were great, they were outmatched by the fear that accompanied his appearance. He worked stealthily, but he stuck out more than the neck of a Kaminoan. Even so, it should be less of an excuse on Nar Shaddaa, considering the diverse population occupying it. His tendency to remain obscure would surely be the death of him. He just couldn't decide if he was better off starving to death or being shot in the chest by some imperial lackey.

He heard the ground creak from behind the door. He tried not to immediately reach for his blaster, but past experience made his reflexes act against his own will. He turned to face the door, staring at the blank, rusted steel in silence before saying, "come in." Buttons were pressed, and within seconds, the door slid open, revealing a Kubaz standing idly by the door frame. The red tint of her goggles flashed in the darkness. She reached out her hand to him, and started to point outside the door, telling him he needed to leave through the nasally squeaking of her tongue. Riggeth had only been able to understand her in Galactic Standard but even then it wasn't always clear.

"I thought you said I had two weeks." Riggeth countered, refusing to budge.

The Kubaz had been responsible for housing many criminals for the right amount of credits, and Riggeth still didn't know her name, though it didn't matter. He'd never see her again if he could help it. Being stuck on this planet may have been comforting for just about any sleazy criminal, all except him. He was just as restricted as anywhere else, and he hated to take a break on his personal vendetta against the Empire. Surely Saw Gerrera would have enough credits to spare to hire him again. He didn't like to come begging for work, or doing work for free, but with Saw it was always an adventure, and there was plenty to be done. If he could change anything, he'd stop himself from leaving when Saw could not afford for him to stay.