In that instant, the ship shuddered violently around him as his foe, the Howlrunner, resisted. Rev was thrown back in his seat with enough force to knock the wind out of him, but not enough to shake his grip on the controls. Behind him, he heard blasters, tools, and ammunition clattering to the durasteel floor, but still he held the ship, barely, steady. The Howlrunner tried weaving to port, to starboard, tried accelerating, slowing, but with each maneuver Revik held the smaller ship in place, grasping the controls as if he were strangling his opponent by the neck. Somewhere in the Skipray, a gasket burst and spewed vapor into the cabin; it was time to end this.

"My bounty!" he shouted, flipped back the safety on the firing switch with his thumb, and loosed one proton torpedo at the Howlrunner.

A spectacular blaze enveloped the Skipray, as one hundred and sixty-five thousand credits worth of durasteel, titanium and circuitry exploded before it, and vanished into a cloud of charred, particulate debris that was once an I-7 Howlrunner and its unfortunate pilot. Ambrose Revik inhaled sharply, realizing that he had been holding his breath, and released the controls. No one steals my bounty, he assured himself as he leaned back in his chair and let his arms fall limply at his sides.

But this better be worth it; Revik's knuckles still bore the dried, crusted blood of a half dozen bounty hunters he had killed earlier on Nar Shaddaa, when "Darth Acheron," the most well publicized bounty of the decade, appeared on the criminal haven without even bothering to disguise himself or his ship. It was a bounty hunter's dream come true, and within minutes the word had spread, and "Acheron" had a dozen men quietly following him through the streets. But no one stole Am Rev's bounty. He hunted the hunters, following them at a distance and taking them out one after another. He shot some, he pummeled others with his bare hands, he pushed one man in front of a garbage scow, and this Howlrunner wasn't the first starship he'd destroyed today. He was exhausted; an old man tired of killing, but consumed with the hunt, the bounty, the prize (not to mention, his retirement).

He smiled, alone in the cockpit of his Skipray as he stared at the durasteel ceiling, realizing the irony that he had been protecting "Acheron" all day--had even saved his life more than once--and yet now he would be the one to take it (although capturing him alive would be preferable). He decided that if he pulled off this job successfully, it would truly be one of his last; he simply could not afford to make as many enemies as he did today, let alone to kill so many people. His smile vanished, like the Howlrunner. So much humanity. Best not to think about that.

"To hell with it," he said aloud, sitting forward in the pilot's seat once again and taking the controls. His last obstacle, the Howlrunner, was gone: vaporized high over the moon of Aduba 3 (outside of detection range), where Rev's target had fled from Nar Shaddaa. He fired up the Blastboat's engines once again, rounding the barren moon until the brown world of Aduba appeared in his viewport. The bounty hunter was done with distractions; in a few moments he would be on the planet, his bounty would be his, and he would let no obstacle get in his way.

He seemed polite enough; as polite as two hundred pounds of muscle had to be, which wasn't very. Rev glanced at him with a blank, disinterested stare, then looked back to the fuel gauge. "Just passing through," he said. The thug nodded, but remained standing there for a moment past awkward as Rev walked about the Skipray, searching it for any substantive damage. He noticed the man watching through narrowed eyes, and returned his glare less patiently this time. "That all?" Rev asked.

"Enjoy your stay," the man said, nodded again and then left Rev and his ship alone on the landing pad. Good, he thought to himself. I have work to do.

No one recognized Rev or cared to stop him as he approached Darwin's freighter with a satchel slung over his shoulder and a cigarette clenched in his teeth. Without his armor on he resembled just another dock worker, and carried himself with enough confidence that the pirates who were loading the YT-1300 (who afterall, were not dockworkers either) did not pay attention to him. The bounty hunter glanced up at the ship, tossed his cigarette onto the ground, and crushed it with his boot. "Hey," he said, pulling aside one of the pirates. "The pilot here? He ordered a repair job."

"No," the man said impatiently, shaking Rev's grip and returning to work. As a rule, nobody wants to be distracted when handling high explosives. "He went for a drink."

"Well hell, I'm on the clock here and I'm sure as hell not waiting around." Rev held tight to his satchel as he climbed atop the YT-1300 and went to work, without a second thought from the pirates. He started on the dorsal hatch, pulling on a pair of gloves and a blow torch and methodically welded the hatch shut with a shower of sparks. He smiled then, shutting off the torch and knocking upon the hatch with satisfaction that no one was getting in--or out--through this entrance. He climbed back down and turned his attention to the rear, starboard landing gear, glanced over his shoulder to make certain the pirates were distracted with their cargo, and then retrieved a limpet mine from his satchel and fixed it directly onto the strut. He set the timer for five minutes.

"Piece of junk," he announced as he pulled off his gloves and stuffed them back into his satchel, glancing back to the pirates.

"That's for sure," one of them agreed as he hefted the next crate onto the cargo lift. "This fella'd be better off getting a new ship."

Rev smiled, and shook his head. He stuffed one hand into his pocket, held the satchel in his other, and walked back into the spaceport proper. He stopped by his Skipray, and donned his characteristic armor once again (sans helmet, but with every piece of weaponry). Rev laid down a trip wire on the platform, locked down the ship and hit the earthen streets. He noticed a weathered man seated on the curb with a spice pipe, a beard and a distant stare. "Old man," Rev asked him. "Where can a guy get a drink around here?"

"If you want to beat the heat, or just want something sweet, the cantina's down the street," he answered, cryptically.

A sudden, powerful bang (which sounded more like a crack) was heard from the spaceport, as Rev's limpet mine exploded with just enough of a concentrated, directed blast to blow the YT-1300's landing strut clean in half. The ship groaned ominously as it listed under its own weight and collapsed onto its side, bearing down on both its boarding ramp and its cargo lift and blocking both from opening. The pirates, who had been loading Zeril's explosives into the hold, stood frozen with terror that the freighter could explode at any moment; but destruction wasn't Rev's plan. The ship was intact, but with no way in. The old man laughed.

"Thanks," Rev said to him, then set out for the cantina.

As he approached the door, Rev noticed a number of tables outside, at one of which was seated a Gran helping himself to a plate of what looked like terk hide, but smelled worse. The Gran looked at him, then back to his food. The two thugs kept looking. "Packing a lot of heat there, aren't you fella?" one of them asked.

"Can't be too careful these days," the bounty hunter answered, stopping between them and resting his hands on his hips (his right hand very near his holstered Luxan). "Say," he asked. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a kid walking around in a cloak and a hood, even though its damn near eighty degrees out here, would you?" In that instant, the thugs shot quick glances to each other, and Rev knew all he needed to know. He casually reached for the Gran's plate, picked it up from the table and tossed it delicately to the guard on the left. "Hold this for me," he said.

Like anyone would do, the thug caught the plate precariously in both hands, only to be struck in the temple with Rev's left fist, and felled by the blow along with the terk hide. In the same motion, Rev's right hand pulled the Luxan from his hip and fired off two shots--always two shots--at the other guard, who was thrown back and over a table by the pistol's stopping power. The two men hit the ground at about the same time. Not bad for an old man, but too noisy; he wouldn't have much time. He unstrapped his M300 from his back, held the rifle in his left arm and the Luxan in his right, and glared at the Gran (who sat at his table, dumbfounded). "Can you get the door?" Rev asked him, "My hands are full here."

The Gran didn't need to be told twice. He pulled open the door and, seeming only then to realize that he was still alive, darted over a table, into the street and disappeared around a corner. By then, Rev was already inside the room. Two more thugs inside (the only ones standing and reaching for holdouts), and the rest of the patrons spacers and drunks who looked at him disinterestedly. Then there was the booth in the corner, and his bounty having a drink with someone else he didn't recognize in the dim lighting of the cantina. Rev's M300 came to rest immediately on "Acheron," while his Luxan traded aim back and forth between the two thugs.

"Your hands touch metal, and I'm taking one of you boys down with me," he warned the guards, "And the kid in the corner, who's worth a fine sum of money. This here's an M300 hunting rifle, full bore, thorough gauge. If you don't know what that means, I'll make it simple; it means you shoot me and I'll get mad and riddle this kid with holes. And don't you get any ideas," he said to Darwin, specifically. "Let me make this plain, since I've done this before and there's no need to waste my time," he continued. "I'm not here to talk to you all, so don't bother. Eli Fitzgerald talks for a living. Darby Willers stars in holofilms. I kill people, or capture them."

"Today I'm here for the kid," he gestured with his rifle. "So everyone else keep your hands where I can see them while he comes with me, and you can have a nice story to live to tell your kids."

Now his attention was on the Hunter himself, his eyes making a quick note of the weapons and loadout of the ridiculous outfit that the Hunter sported--then let his eyes trail to Darwin. Perhaps there was something that the pirate didn't know about? Or perhaps Zeril was aware of something that no one else was. Either way, he offered no resistance, watching Darwin.

"You seem to have quite the reputation my good sir..." His voice trailed off, allowing the other two to converse. As far as Zeril could tell, Darwin was someone of great import, and now that he was aware of that--his previous actions were a cause of concern for himself. Maybe he wasn't getting fair price? Keeping his thoughts to himself, he let the Dark Lord have the next move; his hands in plain sight above the counter, the blaster tucked safely in it's holster, not even ready to be used as the safety strap was still secured around it.

"But I swear to your Force," he continued. "I'm the one with the gun and I'm the voice of reason. What is the galaxy coming to? Honestly kid, this guy's rolling four deep in bodyguards and you think he's just having a friendly drink with you? And you," he glanced at Zeril once again. "If I can state the obvious here, you know the kid's got no money. I don't know how he plans to pay you for all those explosives you're loading in his ship, and I doubt he knows either."

"Now," he sighed, smiling facetiously, "Isn't that better? I certainly feel saner now, and I hope you do too because you're coming with me." The smile vanished, as he raised his M300 more ominously at Acheron. "Let's go, I'm on the clock here. And remember gentlemen," he said to Zeril's thugs, still frozen with their hands at their sides, "You shoot me and now I might just get sloppy and hit your boss, too. Hell, if my bounty doesn't come with me, I might just start shooting to kill the boredom. Let's move it, so these nice people can get back to their drinks."

"Oh, it's fine," said one of the spacers at the bar, his breath smelling of alcohol even from this distance. "It's good en'ertainment, t'be honest."

"Good to know," Rev answered, impatiently.

A smile crept up on Zeril's face; things were about to get a whole lot more interesting.

(( OOC: Sorry I didn't have much to work with lol. ))