"...Look, I know what you think of Coruscanti cuisine, I understand, but I'm telling you, this is the real deal!" The stubble-faced, frizzy-black-haired man spoke animatedly from across the table.
"Yeah?" the Nalroni shot back, "So how come everything on this menu is so cheap? What's his real business?"
"Oh, here we go," he groaned, leaning back.
"I mean, don't you ever wonder why it's called CoCo Town?" He placed a finger to one nostril and sniffed sharply.
"Look, have you ever asked if maybe, just maybe, out of the trillion people here, there's at least one guy running a legit show?"
"Gambler's fallacy," he retorted. "We should go to Celanon some time. I've worn the badge, and I can tell you the C.O.P. could be even more corrupt than the guilds. We were the Protectorate, after all..."
Jax threw up his hands. It wasn't the first time he and Kriel had gotten into a fight about the dirty implications of the planet's food supply, and he doubted it would be the last. Having grown up on an actual farm, the Nalroni harboured unabashed contempt for the "edible chemistry set" that was Coruscant's lab-grown agriculture. Jax thought the argument had entered remission, but it probably didn't help that he'd taken the gang to a retro-themed diner in a run-down industrial zone. Kriel might have gone on at length about the "insincerity" of an establishment on the Imperial Center dolling itself up as a rustic family-owned eatery, until he learned it really was as old as it looked.
"Look, just try it, alright?" sighed Jax, "This planet hasn't killed you yet, and it'd be bad for business if Dex was poisoning his customers."
Any further counterpoint was pre-empted by the return of the maroon-aproned waitress droid. The party placed its order and the silver-bearded man seated to Jax's left (who looked far too posh to visit such a place without a fifty-fifty chance of getting mugged) withdrew a deck of cards and started shuffling. "Some sabacc while we wait?" his basso voice rumbled.
"Alright."
"Sure."
«OK.»
"What about you, Ms. Thurinos?" he asked the bored-looking auburn-haired woman across the table.
"Not much of a competition when one of the players can preordain the cards," she grinned condescendingly.
"A Jedi would never cheat," he replied in mock offence.
"You're not a Jedi, though."
"You doubt the word of a gentleman?" he smirked.
"You're not a gentleman, either."
The game proceeded for several minutes, whittling down into a competition between Dookie and his Sullustan investment broker Anson over who could carry the worst hand, but the winning move was cut short as the food arrived. Jax watched intently as Kriel dissected his plate as though he was a professional taster. "We-e-ell?" he sang, "Isn't it good?"
"It tastes like food," he said slowly.
"I'm telling you, Dex makes this all by hand! Wholesome ingredients, and cheaper than the knock-off stuff in the Lower City bars. And without the risk of deathstick peddlers or stumbling between a Jedi and a hitman. Happened to my uncle once; no joke."
"Speaking of hitmen," Kaldonna cut in, "Here's something that might be of interest." She slid a tablet computer into the middle of the table listing standing Imperial bounties.
"Boss doesn't do assassinations," Kriel sniffed.
"Lucky for the Boss, he's worth more alive anyway."
Dookie picked up the tablet and read through the details. "What nobler cause indeed, than to apprehend a ruffian and disband his illicit empire?" He looked about the table. "All in favour?" Kaldonna's hand was up at once. Jax and Kriel followed suit, Anson after some hesitation. "Alright, here's how we'll do it..." Everyone leaned in conspiratorially, save Kriel, who eyed the mostly-empty diner warily. "Mr. Pavan, you know this planet's underworld"
"Well, I wouldn't say personally"
"So accompanied by Mr. Kalar, you can beat the pavement and find out just what our esteemed associate-to-be is up to."
"J...Just the two of us?" he asked nervously.
"Oh, relax, it's not like you'll be dealing with the kingpin himself." Kaldonna thumbed the Nalroni. "You leave the intimidation to him. You've already got the desperate know-nothing investor look down pat."
"Gee, thanks."
"Ms. Thurinos," continued the sage, "You and I will appraise his premises."
Bill received and paid, they exited the diner, Dookie and Anson falling slightly behind. «Excuse me, sir?» the Sullustan started.
"I did not forget you, friend!" Flushing his cape he knelt down. "I have a special assignment for you!" From within his cloak he retrieved a datapad. "An operation such as this requires advance preparation..."
«I am going shopping,» he surmised before even reading the display.
"Indeed. If we are to gain entry into the inner sanctum, we must dress the part. Also, with your financial acumen I thought you might be able to find some low-risk investment opportunities to supplement our corporate reserve. A credit saved is a credit earned, as they say..."
«I will do my best, sir.» Anson pocketed the pad.
"You always do." Dookie straightened up, looking from one end of the street to the other, perplexed. "Where have they gotten to? . ."
assume that it works in the way that makes sense
