Taig Culler
There was this one time when Morgan found herself in a 3-way shootout with a Mandalorian merc and the two low-life weasels she was chasing.
Non-descript apartement doors seemed to fly by in a blur on either side of her as Morgan sprinted down the dirty, grey street in a corner of Trader's Quarter on Ord Mantell. Her quarry were pelting headlong further up the alley, jumping over debris and boxes, overturning carts and anything else that would move, in order to slow her down. She'd tried taking a few shots at them. Chances were low of hitting anything too vital, but she did have to be careful. They had to be able to talk when she caught them; for a while at least.
There had been people to duck around and avoid for most of this dash but Morgan had begun to notice that the street had become ominously empty. She doubted there'd be any sort of cobbled up law enforcement waiting around a bend here, but that left a whole slew of less pleasant alternatives. Her fugitives, however, didn't seem inclined to take in their surroundings and in spite of a beginning stitch at her side she kept after them. That was a lot of credits on legs trying to get away from her.
And then everyone stopped. The two low lives, one tall and gangling with a bad patchy colour for a Weequay, the other was a short, wiry human with a face like a rat, both came to a sudden halt. The Weequay actually slid several feet and ended up half sitting.
Morgan couldn't tell, from all the dust they kicked up what had spooked them, but it was probably not a bag of free credits they'd spotted, judging by how still they both kept.
A deep, melodic voice, distorted by the speaker of a combat suit addressed her. At least Morgan assumed he was talking to her:
"I'm not accustomed to my prey running towards me. It makes for poor sport. But I have no quarrel with you if you take none with me."
She was standing flat against the right hand wall, making as little a target of herself as possible, as she tried to think fast. Combat suit speakers raised her hackles though, who was this guy? She decided to try for humor. Things could always get serious later:
"Sounds good. I don't actually want to keep either of them, you understand, but I would like to know where they stashed some items of my employers."
There was silence for a bit, in which Morgan shifted closer to the scene. The dust was settling and she could now make out a figure standing on top of a small half-roof jutting over a door with a faded eviction notice. There was no mistaking the shape of the armor and Morgan wanted to kick herself for her temerity. What the hell was a Mandalorian mercenary chasing her little thugs for anyway?
"It appears we both are after the same information." Came the dry response. Morgan closed her eyes and swallowed on a dry mouth. But he hadn't shot her yet and she wasn't ready to just roll over for this guy either. So maybe a compromise.
"My boss didn't specify that I couldn't share the information. Did yours?" He may not have specified it but Faas would be very ticked off indeed if he found out she was being so free with his stuff.
The alley was quiet for what seemed like an hour. Morgan watched dust motes slowly settling in front of her while she waited for a response or a blaster bolt.
"This was not specified, no." Another silence. Was she supposed to say something now?
"Step out and keep your weapon trained on our quarry" And there it was, the moment of truth. The provebial leap, well step, of faith. Who's the bigger crook or was their honor among thieves and a hundred other useless thoughts jumbled around in her head until she took a firm step away from the wall.
