Warm Hearts

“I’m a seeker of fortunes, a dashing rogue, a pilot and trader by nature...” The man lent on his elbow towards the trio of young women that flanked him, their smiles pretty and their eyes bright with interest. He glanced around him carefully, his shoulders sagging with the heavy burden of a secret and he casually draped one arm around the nearest, a twi’lek lowering his voice seriously. “But between you and me, I’m actually a runaway prince from the outer sector. Nelvaan, a beautiful place with low, sweeping mountains the likes no one’s ever seen and a sun that eternally glints like a radiant jewel behind them. Not as radiant as you ladies but I imagine few things in this galaxy are...”

“You are not.” One of the other girls laughed in disbelief and slapped his arm playfully, letting her fingers linger to stroke the lapel on his jacket a little longer than necessary.

“On my word, ladies, if my name isn't Captain Jesse Jarmain.” He smiled his easy smile and whispered to the one his arm was wrapped about, his eyes flicking between the other two so they all felt he was confiding solely in them. “And I’ll tell you what more any woman I marry will be a princess and a queen in her own right, once the royal guards catch up to me. I guess the girl who captures my heart will just have to content with the action-packed, devil-may-care life I lead until then, knowing I am always hunted, on the run but eternally thinking of her and the furious passion I’ll bring as she waits for me to return to her arms.”

All the girls gasped, blushed and giggled at his words. They were young and he was seasoned pilot with a cultivated knowledge of what women wanted to hear. They wanted their men a little dangerous yet noble in their hearts, someone just out of reach yet who would one day spirit them away to a better life with promises of wealth and pleasure. Sure, he used this to his advantage more than once but he’d leave their beds and hearts a little warmer for it once he’d slipped away in the morning.

“Jarmain, a word?”

Jesse flicked his glance up to Sa’Quinn the barkeep of the establishment he often frequented and cleared this throat. “Excuse me, ladies. Duty calls.” He made sure to bow and placed a chaste kiss on each of their hands before leaving to join old Sa at the bar. He sat on a stool and crossed his legs on another, “Yes?”

“You know I don’t like you pulling those tricks in here, Jesse. You leave the girls sour on the next guy.”

“I can’t help it, Sa. I’m in love.”

Sa’Quinn snorted and put the glass he was washing down with a thud, “Oh yeah, which one is it this time?”

“All of them, Jesse doesn't discriminate with his love, he shares it around.” He flicked his gaze back to the troop of dancers and flashed his most charming smile which that them in a fit of flustered giggled again.

“All you love is reserved for that damned ship of yours.”

“Ah, Bellatrix Fortune, my cloud of steel.” Jesse removed his hat and placed it over his heart looking as solemn as he ever could. “Yes, she is ever my faithful companion, I am married to her destiny… but even the best of men occasionally slip, don’t they? ... and I so wouldn’t mind the occasional slip into those fine ladies…”

“Yeah? Well, it’s time for you to slip off Jarmain. Besides, the one you’ve been waiting for is in the back now waiting on you.”

Jesse’s expression immediately morphed from a flirtatious wink to the girls to one of grim determination, their pretty smiles already banished from his thoughts as he settled his mind onto the task ahead. “I’ll settle up before I go.”

“Be sure you do, or I’ll let those girls know you’re precious Nelvaan is actually a primitive chunk of ice and you’ll never have a chance to warm another bed on this entire sector again.”

“You’re a cold man, Sa.” Jesse slipped from his stool and made his way to the private rooms out back, ready to meet the people who wanted to hire his services this time.

The back rooms were not as pleasant as the front of the establishment, a deliberate design measure to keep innocent prying eyes away from the more nefarious things plotted there. The lighting was dim, and the air smelt of stale alcohol, cheap perfumes, and a faint touch blaster fire smoke. It was paradoxically the place least likely to meet one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy, and the most likely.

The Immortals massive frame was not hiding, sitting at a table as he waited. Eerily, he did not move, to make himself more comfortable, to touch the drink before him, or even to breathe. There was a faint glimmer on his armor from the flickering lights that did their best to try and banish the gloom in the room, but failed. His eyes were half lidded, as if bored, as they gazed unblinking towards the door. This was the sight that would greet Jesse as he entered the room. The Immortal, seemingly dead or asleep.

“I am Captain Jarmain and you have decided to negotiate for the contracting of my not-so-humble expertise and services…”

Jesse paused in the doorframe his characteristic charm falling from his lips midsentence. He pushed his hat back on his head a touch as his gaze fell onto his potential employer and he whistled long and low. “Well shit, aren’t you a big one.”

Why is it never a hot dame who needs my help….

Jesse sat in the chair opposite the unmoving bulk of muscle and rests his hands, now interlaced before him on top of the table before him and arched a brow. Was he dead or asleep, Jesse certainly wasn’t going to prod him to find out and instead stretched his legs out under the table and moved one hand to his hip, feeling the familiar shape of his blaster sitting safety under his coat.

Why do I always draw the weird ones…

“We going to talk business or you going to continue to nap?” His lips flickered up into a grin, even when sitting in the shadow of a giant Jesse simply couldn’t help but make light of the situation. “I might have to start charging by the hour though if you do.”

The soft clicking of his boots on the floor was the first evidence of his presence. His soft voice is what followed, musical and yet strong. "You need not concern yourself with the cargo, Captain. Your discussion shall be with me."

Count Orlan was dressed in a dark tunic and tight pants as he stepped out of the shadows. His smile was bright, charming, disarming. There was something about him, in his smile and in his eyes, that made him seem like the most agreeable man in the world, but he knew from the Captain's reputation that it would take far more than that to bring him around to the Count's side in what was to come. His hand slowly passed over the table, leaving a wealth of different precious stones and currencies in its path, a neat little magic trick that was all in the palm and the wrist.

"Consider this small sum an introduction," he says softly as he lowers himself into the seat near Jesse. "My name is Count Orlan, and I will be departing from this sector in the near future. I have some tasks that need to be performed in my absence and require a skilful man willing to make a small fortune by performing these tasks."

He uncorks a bottle of fine Tarisian ale, pouring a glass first for Jesse and then for himself. "I believe you will find negotiating very profitable, in more ways than one, if you have the strength to see it through."

Jesse was beginning to feel outnumbered.

His eyes flicked from the bulk of muscle to the newcomer. Well, he thought, ain’t he the prince of tight pants. Jesse knew that smile, that charming – ‘don’t you wanna trust me’ smile, he’d often used it himself to get in or out of trouble, depending on his mood. He shifted on the chair, sitting up a little more in his seat and crossed his arms. Oh, it was going to take more than that to impress him.

Before he could roll the quip off his tongue, the man provided the ‘something more’ to impress him and keep him listening, at least for the moment. From his hands fell wealth, the likes Jesse only rarely got to see before having to pass it off to his debtor to keep one step ahead.

His gaze flicked to this Count as he introduced himself, Jesse knew the name, it was rumoured in both polite and gutter speak about the wealthy man of mystery. Jesse couldn’t care less what his deal was, where his morals lay or his motives, as long as it kept him flying. It could be profitable to listen but then there was something about the man that didn’t sit quite right with Jesse, he leant forward and took the ale, drowning it with a satisfied smack of his lips.

Alright Count, let's begin the dance.

“You’ve got my attention but not my word, yet.” He motioned to the ale, never one to turn down a free drink. He shot the count an easy smile, her eyes creasing in the corners in amusement, “How about we keep the drinks and praise coming and see where it gets us.”

The Count smiled softly, and raised his glass in toast to the captain. The ale was strong and sweet, and gave just the faintest burn as it went down. The Count was used to the finer things in life, but by the captain's reputation, he would not be, and small treats may go a long way into soothing the captain through the conversation that was to come.

With a gesture towards the bounty hunter, the Count spoke again. "First of all, I assume my cargo requires no introduction?" The Immortal was one of the most terrifying figures to haunt the space lanes since the Mandalorians were at their height, and whispers of him spread from the core worlds to the outer rim planets. Using the Immortal was a dangerous game for Orlan, and that made it all the more appealing. "He will not speak or interact with you in any way, and for your safety, I would recommend you do the same." To think one could control the Immortal was folly, and Orlan never made those kind of mistakes.

As plates of fine, expensive food began to arrive, filling the air with delicious aromas that tantalised the nose and set even the most controlled palate salivating, the Count leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink before setting the glass aside. "Rumour is that you are the finest pilot this side of Coruscant, and that your ship is the sleekest known to the stars. They say you can run a blockade of Hutt ships without a scratch, that you have never been boarded, and that when trouble does manage to find you, you're quick enough to gun down a Jedi before he could ignite his sabre. Let me tell you now, if you sign on with me, you will hope all of those are true. There will be well funded shore leave in between deadly and dangerous runs. My hand reaches every important planet and moon in the know galaxy, and I cross Hutts, Jedi and Sith with impunity."

He lifts his glass once more, swirling it before taking another sip to wet his whistle, the air pregnant with his pause, clearly about to continue. As he lowers the glass once more, his head shakes slowly. "I am not saying these things to challenge you or taunt you. If you are to work as closely to me and the few things I consider precious, there must be trust between us. I am telling you these things because they are simple fact. If you are not careful, not prepared, not swift and terrible, working for me will be the last mistake of your life. I want to make sure you know exactly what it is you are signing up for, if you choose to do so."