With her ship docked safely in one of the public hangars, Valyrie began to make her way into Coronet City.

She had unearthed her grey, light cloak from her cabinet in favour of her usual black heavy one, and she was glad she had - Corellia was too warm for such clothing. She had left on her crafted leather tunic, her stretchy black pants, a chunky black belt that her hilt was strapped into, and black heavy boots. Wearing exclusively black, a known custom of the First Order, would attract unwanted attention of patrols. So she planned to use the light cloak to cover her suspicious looking outfit whilst she was amongst the natives. Once she was in the safety of a darkened tavern, she would shuck it off. 

As she walked through the streets, just as she had hoped, the cloak allowed her to blend in unnoticed. She smiled to herself as she pulled her hood up.

As she got closer and closer to the main city, the jungle terrain began to lessen, being taken over by the towering architecture and suspended trainlines. A steady flow of ships moved to and from the city high above her head in the dusky orange sky, and the wide streets were packed with all walks of life. Humans, Twi'leks, Bith, Besalisk, more than Valyrie could count.

After a while, Valyrie reached Coronet, and immediately began her search for The Lying Prince, the tavern Arman was set to meet her at.

Coronet City was thriving with life, and seemed to have the least amount of jungle terrain of what Valyrie had seen of the planet so far- although in the distance, she could see the tops of trees over the tops of the high rise buildings, so she figured must be an enclosure for the plants in the centre.

Most of the buildings were made of smooth brown and silver metal, and billboards displayed advertisements for restaurants, bands, and everything in between. In a way, it was similar to Corusant, a planet Valyrie had visited but once, but the colours there were more florescent, the crime rate was higher, and the general dodgy underbelly full of drug dens, cantinas, and pleasure clubs. Corellia was cleaner, more sophisticated, less flashy. At least their crime was kept on the down low.

Valyrie drew into the city, craning her neck in search of the tavern's sign. Scanning down the street, having to weave about to avoid the passersby, she spotted a gear shop, a posh restaurant, an apprenticeship base, a couple of clubs - and then her eye landed on the sign that showed a man with his fingers crossed behind his back, a crown on his head. The Lying Prince.

She crossed the wide street, dodging the other crossers with ease, and strode right into the tavern.

The moment the door swung open, she was hit with the smell of ash, tabac, and strong, strong whiskey. A large Crolute was stood behind the bar, roaring with laughter with two customers perched on the stools by the counter. The walls were brown and musky yellow, covered with minimalist posters and band advertisements. Most of the seats were booths around the edges of the room, but tables and chairs were scattered in the centre. Laughter and chatter sounded from every corner of the tavern. It looked innocent enough - not the type of place for such a dark transaction to take place, not the type of place where a Jedi outcast's location would be exposed.

A few people glanced up at her entry, but went straight back to their drinks, laughing with their associates. Valyrie smirked. If only they knew who she was - then, they wouldn't be laughing anymore.

It only took Valyrie a moment to locate Arman sat in one of the booths, and she made her way over to him, her cloak fluttering behind her.

His gaze locked on her when she was halfway across the room, and his eyes grew sombre. He had a tobac pipe in between his teeth, which he lowered as he watched her and let a steady stream of smoke drift out of his mouth. Neither of them broke eye contact.

Soundlessly, Valyrie slid into the booth beside him, slid off her cloak, and picked up the drink he had had waiting for her without question or thanks. He watched her nervously, his blue eyes flickering across her profile. He fiddled with his pipe, turning it over in his hand. He was afraid of her. 

Just to scare him, she slid her eyes smoothly to the side to meet his, and instantly he looked away, his throat bobbing. Valyrie would have chuckled, hadn't she had a drink to her lips.

"You wanted to be paid in credits, right?" she finally said after setting the glass down, folding her arms and leaning back into the booth. Warily, his eyes slid back up to meet hers, and suddenly he seemed to gain a bit of confidence. A cocky, knowing look formed on his features, and he took a moment to answer, taking another puff on his pipe. Raising an eyebrow, Valyrie waited.

He took his pipe away, and smoke streamed from his mouth once more, his smouldering gaze never leaving hers.

"I told your master that I would give up the information - if paid well." Arman's eyes flickered across Valyrie's body.

The corner of Valyrie's upper lip twitched up, but she made sure to appear neutral about his "subtle" proposal. Taking a deep breath, she drew the envelope of credits from her cloak pocket and slid it across the table towards Arman.

"How about this as a deposit. Then, I shall see about after." Valyrie felt ill at the flirtatious tone in her voice. Of course, there was no chance she was going to give up her body for information, regardless of if they were a woman or not - surely two-hundred thousand credits was enough?

Arman popped his jaw to the side, his eyes fixed on the envelope, considering. Then, he took it up, and tucked it carefully into his boxy brown jacket.

"Very well," he murmured. Then, he braced his arms on the table, and leaned in close to Valyrie. Her heart jumped to her mouth, and she leaned in too, her features sombre and intent.

"He's on a planet on the Outer Rim - Ahch-To. From space, it looks like purely ocean, but once you enter it's atmosphere you can see some islands. He's on one in the southern region," Arman whispered, before leaning back and placing his pipe between his teeth.

A shock of excitement and nerves surged in Valyrie's chest, and she was unable to reply to him for a good few seconds. But she quickly checked herself, making sure to keep up her neutral facade.

"Thank you, Alva." Was all she said, and he nodded once, still inhaling from the pipe.

"How did you come by this information?" she asked softly - partly because she was curious, but mostly just to buy some time. He blew out some smoke, and looked at Valyrie with those piercing eyes.

"I was there the day the map was put back together. His location was all I heard about for days," he said simply. Valyrie nodded once.

"And why did you decide to leave the Resistance?"

He didn't answer straightaway. He took a moment to inhale from his pipe once more, his eyelids flickering "They were losing," he said at last. "I wanted to be on the winning side."

Fair enough. "I suppose I would too, had I been in your position."

Alva turned his pipe over in his hand again. He hadn't broken eye contact for a long time, and it was starting to feel like her was boring a hole through her head. 

With a slim hand, he pushed his ashy blonde hair back, and said, "Would it be awfully rude if I asked you something?"

Valyrie shifted in her seat, bracing her lithe arms on the table. "No."

The corner of his mouth turned up, and took another drag on his pipe before asking casually, "What's it like?"

She didn't even have to ask what he meant. But still, she took a moment to consider how to reply, her gaze sliding down. A sudden roar of laughter sounded from the bar, and the clinks of tankards followed. Alva still hadn't stopped staring at her.

Then, she looked back up at him, and swallowed a little as she saw the look in his eyes. He was getting impatient.

"I'm possibly one of the most powerful women in the galaxy. Put it that way," she said, focusing on keeping her voice steady.

He nodded, and clamped his pipe in between his teeth.

She couldn't stall much longer. She had a feeling that if she didn't initiate it, Alva was going to demand it. Before she spoke again, she took a slow, deep breath, feeling sick to her stomach at what she was about to say. She plastered a smirk on her face, and lowered her eyelids. Slowly, she edged across the booth towards him, and laid a slim hand on the side of his face, leaning into him. He froze, his breathing stumbling, as she brushed her lips against his neck.

"So. It's later," she murmured. 

Arman choked, smoke bursting from his mouth, his eyes watering. He looked down at her as she drew back a little, unable to believe his ears. Valyrie schooled her features into something between sultry and earnest.

Realising she was serious, Arman's face broke into a grin, and the pair of them quickly stumbled out of the booth. Arman's hand latched onto Valyrie's, and a queasy feeling rose in her throat as he pulled her towards the door leading out the back of the tavern. She felt many pairs of disapproving eyes turn their way, but she made sure to keep giggling, keep a tight grip on his hand, as if she was not only actually going to, but excited to give herself up to the arrogant rogue.

The pair barged out of the door, and Valyrie barely had time to look around the darkened alley before Arman pushed her to the wall. She forced another insufferable giggle from her mouth as he pinned her with his body, doing her best to hide her panic. His hands were pinning her wrists to the cool metal wall, his mouth grazing her jaw. She had to take control - now.

Before he could scoop her up, before he got her in a position where she had no chance of movement, Valyrie quickly, roughly, pushed Arman back, and switched their positions, slamming the man to the wall, drawing a small groan from his mouth. Her face stretched into a crooked grin, and she tilted her head back, sliding her slim hands down Arman's body to his belt.

"This good enough pay for you, Alva?" she murmured into the rogue's neck, and he let out a choked sound, his eyes flickering with anticipation. He didn't notice that the girl wasn't showing a slither of the pleasure that he was, and one of her hands were straying from his belt, slipping to the silver hilt strapped in her own.

The man barely had time to cry out before Valyrie's lightsaber roared to life, and slashed through the rogue's chest. There was a hissing, and the grotesque buzzing of the plasma blade tearing further through his flesh as Valyrie deliberately jarred the blade, strands of her hair splaying across her face, her eyes cold. Arman's lips parted, his body falling forwards, his arms hanging limp.

"Y - you bitch." Was all he managed to say. Although the words were angry, his choked out voice only displayed shock. Valyrie said nothing, silently watching him die.

As soon as he ceased to be, Valyrie retracted her blade, and Arman's limp body thudded to the ground. Flicking her hair back out of her face with a slight toss of her head, Valyrie crouched and pushed Arman's body onto his back. Shoving his lifeless arm out of the way, she dug through his jacket, retrieving the two-hundred thousand credits she had paid him. He had no use for money anymore.

Then, she straightened up, adjusted her tunic around her, and strolled nonchalantly back to the bar without giving the body a backwards glance.

By the gods, that had felt good.