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 Posted: Thu Apr 29, 2010 12:13 am
Mos Eisley was located in a valley somewhere to the southeast of the Jundland Wastes[1] and roughly 80 kilometers north of Anchorhead, near the desert palace of Jabba the Hutt.
From a distance, the spaceport appeared as a haphazard collage of low-grade duracrete, stone, and plastoid structures that spread outward from a central power and water distribution plant. The city lacked a main landing facility; therefore it relied on 362 individual hangars.[1] By order of the Empire, all of these hangars were equipped with time-lock devices.[1] Illegally parked vessels were not an uncommon sight. In 0 ABY, Mos Eisley was attacked by Imperial TIE Bombers and Viper probe droids.
The town was really larger than it looked, as a good portion of it lay underground. In fact, it had a population of around 40 to 60 thousand people, varying seasonally.
Streets in the city included Corporation Road, Curved Street, Outer Curved Street, Straight Street, Spacers Row, Paradise Road, Dune Street, and Kerner Plaza. Many citizens rode rontos, dewbacks, and other beasts of burden.
The streets of Mos Eisley.
Mos Eisley was divided into the "New Quarter" and the "Old Quarter". The Old Quarter was originally wheel-shaped and contained a thriving marketplace.[1] Jabba the Hutt also maintained a residence there, known as the Desilijic Complex, since it was difficult to make business from his palace. The New Quarter was more tourist-friendly and was a merchant district where tourists could relax (though there was still much crime). Chalmun's Cantina served as the hub of the newer quarter.[1] Each quarter had individual neighborhoods, such as the rough-and-tumble Tar Mass area.
During the Galactic Civil War, the Empire established a small garrison in Mos Eisley, although this did not help with the city's massive crime rates. The base was located near the cantina and whenever an expansion was required, the Empire would simply bulldoze surrounding houses.[1] To support the constant flow of spacers, Mos Eisley featured a large number of hotels, casinos, and cantinas.
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Posted: Sun Jun 13, 2010 10:09 pm
МαlЇcα DrξΖ¥αΝ “Give me one reason not to kill you.”  Malica Drezyan slid through the backdoor of the cantina, escaping from the pounding music and the loud drunken ramblings of patrons. Her bare middle was adorned with smudged bruises and raw skin shaped like fingers. Nights that followed intense summer sandstorms meant that the bar would be unusually crowded, the costumers overly-friendly, and the "no touching" rule nonexistent. As she fidgeted a cigarra out of the skintight bottoms of her outfit, Malica swore under her breath at the disgusting bastards inside and at the rotten luck that landed her at such a dive. Underneath her plastered-on slut-smile, she imagined shooting off the head of every male that clutched at her. Those Twi'lek bitches got enough attention as it was; the marks on her hips and stomach equaled less tips on night where she should be getting more. And her serving shift was nearly over, so there would be no time for the marks to fade before she went onstage. Great.
Taking a drag on her cigarra, Malica entertained the idea of walking out. Of course, she knew it was a complete fantasy. The pile of tin rusting in the junkyard still needed quite a few repairs to get it into working order (including the parts that she'd suspected had been filched and sold from it by the owner) and that required credits.
Her income from working at the cantina was, at the current time, pathetically low. Not that she was an insufficient dancer, by any means. She knew exactly how to act (brainless and entirely attracted to whatever hairy slab of being wanted to give away credits), which lines worked the best (the stupid, blunt, uncreative ones that did not hold a single inch of subtlety or seduction), and how to compose herself (the intricacy of your dance doesn't matter as long as your tits and a** are protruding as much as possible). Anyone could do it, really. And everyone was. That was the problem. At this point, Malica was forced to rely upon other talents.
The cantina was a favorite nighttime spot for every loser and petty criminal in the area, but, on occasion, catered to patrons worth more than the small sum they kept in their pockets. During the day, Malica kept close watch on the newly posted bounties at the office near her apartment. Should they ever enter her place of employment, she would recognize them instantly. Charm them and coax them, find out things about them that a few drinks could reveal, then bring them in after work. If they were resistant, all the more fun for her - her identity was disguised during the hunt. She made it obvious to them that they had been captured by a woman and that was the sweetest victory, along with a few hundred more creds toward getting off the planet. Maybe afterwords she could start going for more than just the thieves, smugglers, and spice dealers. For now, she was stuck with picking through the scum at the bar, darker impulses and growing blood-lust aside.
Taking a deep breath of the fresh night air, Malica flicked her finished cigarra away, and disappeared into the musky cantina.
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Posted: Sun Jun 20, 2010 9:29 pm
МαlЇcα DrξΖ¥αΝ “Give me one reason not to kill you.” Dancing came like second nature to Malica. It was the only semblance of a real trade that she had learned and the single ounce of something good she scrounged out of six years of slavery. Enslaved dancing girls overlooked race and were bound together by misfortune, unlike in the Cantinas, where the "every woman for herself" mindset prevailed. If the girls she had known then had escaped (if they were alive even) she hoped they had not been forced to return to working cantinas and casinos. In many ways it was just like being a slave, except you held the illusion that you were free; a messy irony she assumed, at that time, was just another lie that kept her and all of the other slaves oppressed.
After changing, Malica made her way to the stage. The Bith band, Arkus Fren and the Flyboys, kept pretty close to the back wall and were relatively tidy, (the stage was probably the cleanest area in the bar) so it wasn't horrible to work with them. She was glad to see Stage Left was probably still in the dressing room, allowing Malica to be by herself for a moment. In her element, Malica worked the crowd a little, moving a bit to the song the boys were finishing up, mock-adjusting her outfit to the pleasure of those who had given her their attention, bending down to take sips out of drinks that were in her reach, and teasing those who had their elbows on the edge of the stage. The night was so hot and the cantina filled with so many bodies, that her forehead was already covered in a sheen of perspiration. She squinted across the room beyond the smoke and crowded tables to the bartender, Jaxx Lorn, a Zabrak and a hell of a fighter, who also worked from time to time as a bouncer. His sleeveless shirt was soaked around the neck and underarms. His black-grey and green skin was slick and he looked especially impatient tonight. Her view transfered to the back hallway threshold when Stage Left appeared, not at all pleased to discover Malica was her partner for the night.
Shen'a Diskloto was a beauty of a Twi'lek. Her skin was a cool shade of blue that darkened naturally near her lips, cheeks, eyelids, and shoulders. Her body was lean, lithe, and curvaceous, made for showing off in the tight strappy numbers that she was so found of wearing. It was a challenge dancing opposite of Shen’a only because of her looks. Her technique was a travesty of Twi'lek dance. Most of the entertainers remained at least slightly true to the art. Shen'a did not. She loved to flaunt that fact because no matter what she did, she still got the most tips and the most attention. She was a favorite of the boss, Tesek Kerner, a stupid bumbling human male, and it wasn't hard to guess why. The last time Shen’a and Malica had been onstage together resulted in a fight that left Shen'a with a fractured knee and a four large ugly bruises on her face (and left the boss with a hefty sum in his pockets for the special girl-on-girl entertainment that night). She didn't need more s**t from the from Kerner for damaging his pet and so close to getting off this Bantha pile of a planet, she'd done her best to avoid Shen'a. It was puzzling that they'd been scheduled together. If Shen'a tried to start more s**t with her, no matter what she'd told Kerner, Malica would make sure the Twi'lek slut wouldn't dance with her again.
Crossing the room and mounting the stage, Shen'a threw Malica an arrogant smile. "You still work here?" She said without even looking at Malica, as she crossed to stage left. The volume of the room had heftily increased due to Shen'a's arrival and Malica could pratically see the pants of the patrons around the stage grow tighter. She wondered vaguely how many of them had seen more than Shen'a's dancing and she concluded about 50 to 60 percent. Disgusting what people would do for credits in Mos Eisley. The band began their next song and Malica and Shen'a started their routine. Kerner sat at the bar and was thrilled to see that most of the cantina was entranced with his two best dancers. Shen'a had screeched and wailed at him not to put them together, promised to quit and to stop their special visits after work, but tonight, with so many people stuffed in his small cantina, he had to put them onstage. There were too many credits to be had. He figured he could somehow calm Shen'a's rage afterwords, although he had yet to plan out exactly how.
Not even half-way through the routine and Malica was already desperately suppressing the urge to rip Shen'a into pieces. The b***h was totally off and completely upstaging her, taking center for far too long and mauling Malica's gorgeous choreography. The least she could do was wait until solos to be a whore. The men kept jeering at each of Shen'a's missteps, turned-on by her "rhythmic masturbating" (as Malica termed it) and the suggestive way she used her Lekku. Shen'a would occasionally glance at Malica to observe her growing agitation and send her a satisfied grin. Malica was nearly on the verge of storming off, if only that wasn't giving Shen'a exactly what she wanted. As they crossed each other, Shen'a positioned her foot just enough to the right that Malica's usual acute dexterity, clouded by anger, would miss it's displacement. Sure enough, Malica made a small, but noticeable misstep over Shen'a's ankle. Before the Twi'lek could turn to gloat over her success, she'd been knocked to the floor and was receiving a round of heavy blows to the face.
Malica's fists pounded into the thin flesh and plates of bone in Shen'a's face. The bridge of her noise had made a loud crack a couple punches ago. A smattering of dark blood appeared in the space between Shen'a’s nostrils and upper lip. Malica was about to aim for a solid black-eye when she was wretched off the girl by her armpits. The crowd was screaming and jeering crazily at the violent fight between the dancers and was thoroughly disappointed when Malica was pulled offstage.
"That was stupid." Jaxx said after a long silence. After he'd dragged Malica offstage, he sat her down in the dressing room. His feet rested on the seat of her chair to the right of her hip. She studied the tread of his boots as they waited for Kerner.
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Posted: Tue Jun 22, 2010 12:47 am
МαlЇcα DrξΖ¥αΝ “Give me one reason not to kill you.” Malica filed her nails as they waited for closing time. It was nearly four am and most of the customers had long since left. The yellow-orange glow from the lights on the dressing vanities flooded the room and made Malica uncomfortably aware of how tired she was. Jaxx’s sinewy leg barred her from the exit door, which she would have slipped out of long ago, if Kerner wasn’t obviously detaining her. Her bodyguard was unbearably bored and had not moved since they had sat down. She resisted the impulse to chuck her nail file at Jaxx to see if he was still awake. Whatever reason she was being held captive must have been dreadfully serious. Her prediction was that Kerner would start with some half-hearted threats that would eventually melt into veiled pleas to not start trouble again. Malica would respond with an insincere apology that Kerner would accept as genuine and they’d be off. Stewing in boredom for four hours, waiting for the bar to close was the real punishment.
Malica pivoted around from her chair to take a compact off her dressing table. She stared at her smeared eyeliner in the small mirror and set it back down. Drowsily, she stuck a fingertip in the pasty red square of makeup and drew greasy stars and spirals on the metal surface of the dressing table. Running out of room, she moved to the blank canvas of the seat of her chair between her thighs and fanned out her legs to get more drawing space. After she'd decorated that area, Malica was allured by the black shiny surface of Jaxx’s boot. He didn’t seem to notice when she wrote “a**” in Huttese across his toes. As she began writing on her own feet and calves, she heard Kerner’s heavy steps approaching the door of the dressing room. She smudged her finger clean on the back of the chair and sat up, eager to get this over with and to go home.
Jaxx woke up when Kerner sat down and moved his foot off Malica’s chair. “There’s a lot I been thinking about lately,” Kerner began, seated across from Malica. It was nice of him to uphold the pretense, but Malica knew that Kerner did not think often, very well for himself, and the selfish Twi'lek b***h who did was listening to this conversation on the other side of the door. Kerner was tense and sweatier than usual, probably itching for this unnecessary meeting to end so he could get on his whore. When his hesitant pause stretched into an awkward silence, Malica started to get suspicious. She searched his face for some kind of clue and could only conclude that whatever he wanted to tell her wasn’t “apologize to Shen’a and don’t do it again.”
Kerner cleared his throat loudly, “We can’t keep you here anymore,” he muttered. “Hand over the cantina’s property and get out.”
Malica wanted to laugh. He had to be joking.
“We’ve already confiscated the property in your locker and table, so if you have anything else, give it up now or Jaxx will force it off you. Consider it payment for beating up one of my dancers.” Kerner said, rising. Jaxx remained seated and shot Malica a stare that said he‘d smash her into a pulp if he had to do anything more on her account tonight.
Enflamed, Malica flung up and ripped open the drawer of her table to see that it was bereft of her makeup, accessories, and most importantly, a small pouch that held a drug so rare that she kept it with her at all times: Carsunum. If the dancing uniforms weren’t so flimsy, Malica would not have put it in the drawer. Malica swore under her breath when she realized that was why ******** Shen’a had been late on stage; her nasty slut fingers, better suited to snaking inside pants, pockets, and places unspeakable, were busy snaking through Malica‘s table and stealing her stuff. The ******** Twi’lek b***h had planned to get her fired the whole night. If their little fight had only lasted a few minutes longer…
“Didn’t you hear, Mal? Give up your s**t and get out.” Kerner grunted. Apparently the Zabrak’s muscle had gave the slimy b*****d a backbone.
“I heard.” Malica mumbled. She walked to the opposite wall, turned away from Jaxx and Kerner, and untied the back of her outfit. As she took it off, she slipped a small cylindrical item out of the breast of the bikini top and laced it between the long fingers of her left hand. She shimmied out of her skirt, took her street clothes off a hook, and put them on. She removed her shoulder bag from another hook and deftly slipped the item in her left hand into the bag as she slung it’s thick strap over her body.
Malica walked over to Kerner, handed him her uniform, and anticipated her final dismissal.
“Whatever you got in there's mine, too.” He said, eying the bag and getting impatient with her. Shen’a proudly presented the drugs she’d took from Malica to him earlier that night and if she was hiding more in the bag, she had one last chance to hand it over before he ordered Jaxx to take the whole damn thing, datapad, credits, and personal junk included.
Shuffling through her bag, Malica placed a small amount of spice and six deathsticks in Kerner’s outstretched palm. She had one other item to turn over. In a single swift movement, Malica grabbed Kerner’s wrist and plunged her emergency syringe of Carsunum into a fat artery. He screeched like a horny Gammorean as soon as the needle pierced his flesh and sputtered something high-pitched and incoherent to Jaxx, who was unaware of what had happened until he witnessed his boss fall to the floor in a seizure. Malica had busted out the back door when Jaxx shot up to pursue her. Speed was her best bet in this situation; Jaxx had her completely outmatched strength-wise and she knew it. As she ran through the back allies of the neighboring buildings and jumped the stocky sand barriers, Malica hoped Jaxx decided against hunting after her. She had done him a favor by disposing of Kerner; the bar was now his. It would be too much trouble to create a story to hide the crime; the least he could do was return the favor and give her a fighting chance to flee the planet. Tatoonie was no place to have a price on your head, no matter how small, and before her name showed up in the bounty office, Malica was determined to be on her way somewhere else. Her departure would have to occur prematurely. Guided by the Twin Moons, Malica made her way towards her apartment and the junkyard.
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Posted: Sat Aug 21, 2010 4:20 am
  Ailyn Vhett
Mandalorian Bounty Hunter  After leaving Coruscant Ailyn headed for the far off planet of Tatooine. Though her prey's trail lay back where she had come, the mandalorian knew well that the jedi masters were not to be taken lightly. A Padawan or knight who cares, but a master. That would take skill, planning, and penitence, all things Ailyn had learned long ago. Once again soon after arriving planet side Ailyn sent Sin 13 to wait in orbit out of sight and with cloaking at max. She did this to keep herself out of the public eye.
Mos Eisley a speck of dirt on the underbelly of the universe, but this speck was often worth more the a handful of credits. There was information to be gained in spades here, if you knew where to look. Ailyn had used this dirt hold a few times but for the most part was still not all that knowledgeable. A fact she would not show easily. Walking towards Chalmun's Cantina, the bounty hunter smiled under her helmet. It had been to long since she had been on the hunt. This droid was just a appetizer but it was suppose to be an assassin. Which made it interesting, and its rank made it possible to find the real reason Ailyn had come here. A level 20 hunt was bound to get some bounty hunter looking to make a name for them self. It was her job to find them and dangle a bigger fish in front of their face. That way she could get the droid and have help on the jedi. However selling the idea of hunting a jedi master would not be easy. Selling the idea of hunting a jedi master and bringing it in alive would be even harder.
Smiling again Ailyn was picking up the sound of the Chalmun's Cantina's music dreadful stuff, for the sober anyways. Sitting at the counter Ailyn wondered which of these pathetic lowlifes would know anything about a rogue droid assassin. From the looks of it none of them could tell you about their own mother, let alone a droid. It was really to bad to, what a shame she had wasted a trip in to such a tasteful place. Deciding to wait it out, Ailyn ordered a drink which after scanning it a few dozen times, a straw lowered from her helmet and into the drink. This little side job seemed to be turning into a real pain.  "Everyone dies. It is the final and only lasting justice."
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