Beyond - Legends Auteur Theory (45ABY CCs,OCs, Mystery)

Title: Auteur Theory
Author: galactic-vagabond422
Characters: Canon Character, OCs
Timeframe: 45 ABY
Genre: Mystery, Detective
Rating: PG-13 (Just in Case)
Summary: An investigator is handed her biggest case yet, will she take it?
Disclaimer: Star Wars and related properties are owned by Lucasfilm Ltd.

Author's Note: Had this idea for a while decided to finally put some effort towards it. This is just the prologue, I will have a the first 'chapter' up hopefully soon. As always constructive criticism is encouraged.

Auteur Theory: A Namaa Yazlli Mystery​

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Prologue​

"For your own good…" those were the words that accompanied her nightly terror.

Thick icy fog blocked her vision, each panicked short breath was agony as her lungs froze. Tears turned to ice on her cheek, her body shivered violently as the chilling mist wrapped its arms around her. With a final shock a frigid sting ran up her spine, she tried to scream but, her chest was solid, no breath left her.

All at once Namaa's eyes snapped open, her body snapped up right and she snapped up the blaster she always kept close. Her vision swept from corner to corner, her weapon pointed at the darkness. Her shock white hair was a mess slightly obscuring her sight.

"Imposter." A cold voice rumbled in the back of her mind, it washed down her back like an icy wave. Her hair stood on end, her breath hitched in the throat as if she'd plunged into cold water. As quickly as her eyes opened they shut again, squeezing tight to banish the voice, to cast it back into the dark corner she'd exiled it. She was frozen, her arms stiff, hands shaking in her lap, her brow furrowed in deep fearful thought, her teeth were gritted shallow breaths slipping between them.

Warm O'Pahz sunlight began to filter through her window. Slowly it heated her cold shaking hands, this heat moved up her arms and into her chest. Her breathing returned to normal and as the light finally fell upon her face she opened her blue eyes.

With her free hand she let her fingers play in the golden shafts that passed through her window, wiggling them, watching the starshine play across her fair skin. She took a few deep breaths, she was free, she didn't have to live in fear, she would never be in darkness again.

She sat there for far too long but, she couldn't tear herself away from the pool of light that fell across her. The sun, the light, the heat, it was a constant reminder to her, a reminder of the things she took for granted, the things that were taken away from her, for a time.

Lazily stretching the warmth of O'Pahz soaked into her back causing her to smile. She woke up every morning with the sun letting its heat melt away the icy memories that plagued her every night.

It had been a year, yet she couldn't forget. Her mind couldn't let go of those moments, those few seconds before six months were taken away from her.

She shook her head rising finally from her bed and made her way into the kitchen, blaster still held firmly in her hand. Going about her morning she made nuna eggs and polystarch. A hearty meal she started every day with, well them and extraordinarily strong caf. The maker was always set to the same time, and she never missed it, never slept in.

Namaa looked to her front door, it was hard to miss, she stared right at it as she sat at the small table shoved into the corner of the living/kitchen/dining room that made up the majority of her living space. It was thick, several centimeters of durasteel laced with cortosis. It was the cortosis that made her feel secure, that not even a lightsaber could break trough. What also gave her piece of mind were the six locks that surrounded the impenetrable door, each one requiring a different password and each one needing to be unlocked in a specific sequence.

Why she needed such security was a question she was asked exactly once, by the being that installed the system.

She simply told him

"I'm a single girl in a big city."

The being seemed to accept it and move on to the next job.

She took a long sip of caf feeling the warmth flow through her, and the burst of energy it gave her to start her day.

Outside she could hear the sounds of repulsers, the sounds of others getting to work. The idle and indistinct chatter of yet more beings wandering outside. She didn't mind the noise, in fact she loved it.

Namaa finished her meal, quickly rinsing and cleaning the flatware and putting it away in the same spot to be used the following morning.

A long warm shower followed, it was a bad habit of hers, taking her time in the shower. Even in the hot humid days of the O'Pahz City summer she spent far too much time under the hot running water. It was almost like she didn't want to face the day. She knew that once she was done with the shower it was time to dress and go to work, if you could call it that. But, going just downstairs and sitting in a bar meant leaving her bastion, the place she'd built up as a fortress against the outside.

Maybe this was her mind's way of telling her just to stay inside, stay where it was warm, stay where it was safe. However, she knew that to afford her safe place she needed credits, and to get credits she needed to work. It was a necessity of this life, to make money to survive, to be safe. This day and every day the need to survive drove her out of the warm confines of her shower and back into the 'real' world.

She dressed in what she always did, a black jacket, white shirt, cream pants and black boots. There was no particular reason she had to wear these clothes other than they fit, and were comfortable for working long days and sometimes nights. Why she had at least 7 shirts all the same color, and the pants to match them, was for a very simple reason…Shopping is hard. She doesn't know what fashions were 'in season' or what clothes 'worked' with her complexion. She didn't care, just a box of the same simple shirts were good enough to get her by.

The only accessory she added was her blaster-which have never left arms reach-in its holster at the small of her back hidden under her jacket.

The last hurdle to her getting out of her apartment was the door, the gate to her mighty castle. Her hands quivered a little as she reached out to put in the first code. Outside she couldn't control things, not like in here, this side of the door, she was the master. The other side, the other side was chaos, and danger.

Her other hand touched the cold grip of her blaster. Its weight at her back was comforting. It reminded her that she had power, she could control herself, and that was all that mattered.

With a final breath she unlocked the door, and took a step out.

Instantly she was hit with a blast of cold air. It was winter in the city after all, and she kept her little slice of sanity rather warm, to which her heating bills will attest. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself trying to preserve the heat quickly flowing out of her.

Namaa walked out the front door to her apartment building, braving the harsh winds that blew in from O'Pahz bay and whipped across her face. Thankfully it was only a few steps before she made it to the charmingly named 'Bottom Shelf'.

It was an out of the way drinking establishment, sunk into the ground so one had to step down to enter it. Inside the room was filled with beings smoking, lending a subtle haze that never seemed to go away, despite the best efforts of the ventilation system. Along the back wall behind the metal bar was a wall lined with rum, more specifically Nym's Finest, imported brand. This was something close to blasphemy on Carratos. The other bars only served Arcadia Rum, distilled on Carratos with Carrotisan sugar, and by Carratosian hands. There was a deep planetary loyalty on this planet. Many locals will pay more for products made locally, and will claim that they are of superior quality.

The Bartender a human named Jax put a bottle of lum on the bar which Namaa took and walked to the back corner of the space. A simple durasteel table with an equally simple chair, this was her 'office' for lack of a better term. She didn't really work a standard job. She was what one might call a fixer, someone you turn to when the 'authorities' won't help, or are the problem. She'd sought out missing persons, tracked down stolen items, and one time protected a man in fear of a local gang. She wasn't a bounty hunter, or a hired killer, she didn't do that kind of work, strictly investigations and protection that was her expertise.

She took a long sip of her lum keeping her eyes on the door, no one entered or left without her noticing. Most of the beings that entered looked like they belonged. Lived in, basic clothes, nothing flashy, and visible tattoos. It was a way of identifying people, the gang they ran with, the years they spent in prison, the number of other beings they've killed. You could tell a lot of things by reading the colorful designs that marked another's skin.

It was about that time that someone that didn't belong came in. They wore nice clothing made of quality materials and obviously tailored to his frame. It was way too expensive for this place, no one would wear such fine attire to a dive like this. The man was an older human with slicked back black hair with streaks of grey.

Namaa peered at the newcomer, narrowing her eyes. They didn't belong here and everyone knew it. Like hungry howlrunners the other patrons sized up the well-dressed man, each of them looking for something to pounce upon. He looked around the bar looking for something, or someone. Then his grey eyes fell on her. Of course, no man of means would come down here of his own volition unless he needed something, needed her help.

He walked forward coming to a stop behind the empty chair on the other side of her.

"Um…" he started a little nervous but, still able to look her in her blue eyes. "Are you Namaa Yzalli."

"The one and only." She replied with an easy smile on her face.

"I…Have a problem I'd like you to look into."

"Most people I meet do."

"May I sit?" He asked being surprisingly polite, he wasn't just a foreigner to this bar, he was a foreigner to this planet. Manners were slightly different, you don't ask to sit, you just do, you don't ask for a drink, you order it.

"Sure, what do you need?" though it was phrased as a question, she said it like a demand.

"I'd like you to look into a murder for me."

The fixer paused in the middle of taking a long drink from her bottle of lum.

"Excuse me?" She said after putting the drink back on the table. This was a new request, and she wasn't sure is she should take it.

 

This is a very promising start! Namaa has a shady past (what investigator doesn't?), which I'm sure we'll know more about as we go along. And I'm very, very curious who the stranger is, what the job is, and why he's come to Namaa of all people. I loved the description of her interaction with the sunlight.

Lots of good details, scene building, character building...

Look forward to more!

 

An promising start, it will be interesting to see how it develop

I hope Namaa also reinforced the wall around her door or people might just cut around her super-secure door

 

Title: Auteur Theory
Author: galactic-vagabond422
Characters: Canon Character, OCs
Timeframe: 45 ABY
Genre: Mystery, Detective
Rating: PG-13 (Just in Case)
Summary: An investigator is handed her biggest case yet, will she take it?
Disclaimer: Star Wars and related properties are owned by Lucasfilm Ltd.

Author's Note: Second part but the first chapter, Namaa gets the details, I cut it off because it was already a little long. The next one will have more action I promise.

Chapter 1​

"I'd like you to look into a murder for me." The man stated again his voice had settled into a rather calm tone.

"You might want to start at the beginning for me." Namaa said while ordering two more drinks. It was still a little much for her to process. Murders were still serious crimes on Carratos, the O'Pahz Security Force, while it had its problems didn't turn a blind eye to them…well unless they were paid to.

"My name is Allanar Kaz, I'm a producer." Mr. Kaz paused to nod his head and thank the server for bringing the drinks.

"What kind of producer?" Namaa followed up.

"The kind that helps create holos-vids."

"Ah…"Namaa looked at the table, she didn't know anything about the holo business, much less what a producer did. They were the ones that held the purse strings right? "Let me guess, one of your leads got themselves killed and you want me to find the party responsible."

"Well it’s a little worse than that, an actor, I can replace, who can't replace is Cumail Smachd."

Namaa arched her brow, he said it like it was supposed to mean something to her. It did not.

"You haven't heard of Cumail Smachd?"

"I'm not really a holophile."

A curious look came across Mr. Kaz's face, he looked intrigued, fascinated with the woman's lack of knowledge.

"Well, you don't have to be a holophile to have heard of his work. I'll be the first to admit a lot of his stuff is…" again he stopped looking off to the right as he found the right word to use. He seemed to talk carefully, selecting each word to fit perfectly what he was trying to say. "Highbrow," he continued, "but, his films are well known, mostly for the awards critics heap upon them."

"I thought it didn't matter what the critics said, all that matter was that people bought tickets." The fixer replied putting her, admittedly, small amount of knowledge of the subject to work.

"Yes and no," Kaz answered, "While critical opinion matters less than popular opinion, it is the critics that hand out the awards…" he smiled a little letting a small chuckle leave him, "Well the awards that matter. Winning these awards lends a bit of prestige to holos, makes them worth more in public's eyes. Now the holo you passed up when it came out is up for an award. If it's up for an award it must be good, right, I mean a lot of knowledgeable people think so. You go you buy a ticket, and whether you like it or not, you've already helped it make more credits. If you like it then you might keep an eye out for the same director, the same producer or production company, to see what their next holo is going to be."

Namaa sat there brow furrowed as Kaz kept talking, she was a little confused and surprised at his rather, long winded reply.

"You must spend a lot of time thinking about this." She replied

"That is part of being a producer, you've got to know the business side as well as the artistic side." The left side of his mouth curled into a half smile. There were slight winkles around his eyes and mouth, that with his greying hair led her to gauge his age to be about middle age for humans anyway. He had a dignified air about him, something that made him stand out here. Most just tried to not draw attention to themselves or, tried to look tough, or tough enough that other's didn't bother them. None carried themselves with their heads held high and perfect posture, which even sitting, Kaz displayed.

"Well," she said putting her bottle back on the table, "Thanks for the lesson but, you said your director was murdered, the Seccers should be all over this, they may not look it but, they're good enough to find the being responsible. No real need to get me involved."

Kaz shook his head, "Let's just say that the detective made it very clear that this was a low priority for him, that Cumail is an off worlder, I'm an off worlder so they don't really have time for such people when they have enough domestic issues on their plate."

"Ah…yes Carratos for Carratosians. It's something of a common theme."

"I just thought it was the man being a sithspawn." The curse tumbled from his lips as easily as any other word he'd spoken in his received pronunciation. There was no special emphasis but, the fact he said at all lended it weight.

"He was being that too," the investigator said off handedly, "but, this place is very insular they help each other not outsiders."

"You sound as though you are an outsider yourself."

"Picked up on that did you," she answered with a thin layer of sarcasm while taking another long pull of her drink, "I've only been here about a year."

"Where were you before that?" He asked, in that moment her whole body froze, the obscuring mists returned, that chill ran down her spine. It was only an instant before the ice melted away aided by the warm alcohol flowing in her veins. "Guessing by your accent…Corellia."

Another surprise, he was close but, not quite correct. "You can distinguish accents?"

"Have to, I need to know when an actor is being authentic, or just faking it. Can't count the number of times a Courscant actor has tried to sound like an Agamarian, and failed. If I'd had a lesser ear, many unauthentic accents would have slipped through." He paused again, "So I am right Corellia?"

"I wasn't born there but, my family was." This rather cryptic reply seemed to intrigue him even further and he opened his mouth to speak more but, Namaa cut him off, "So if I take this job, what do you get out of it. The seccers will still do nothing about it, the courts won't take my evidence, and Republic has its own problems. Why do you want me to do this?"

"Look, the man, while he had his quirks, didn't deserve to die. As well, we still need to try and finish principal holography. If this is some vendetta against the production, I need to shut it down."

"I'm not killing anyone for you." Namaa said a hard edge in her voice.

"I won't ask you do something like that. I just need to know if this was personal or business. Kill the director, you stop production, and if they are a big name like Cumail, it can end one." He ran a hand through his dark hair, "The company has already sunk several million credits into this, I can't let it end here."

"So can you give me a list of Cumail's enemies?" she started asking for some basic information. It would be quicker to start with people close to the victim rather than trying to look for some larger conspiracy.

"It might be a shorter if I gave you a list of people that wouldn't kill him."

"Ah…like that."

"Yeah, he has…had," the producer corrected himself, common when dealing with a recent death, "a tendency to rub people the wrong way." Kaz shrugged his shoulder, "The curse of working with an Auteur."

"Auteur?" Namaa asked brow quirking.

"I'm sorry, using jargon. An Auteur is a director that is very controlling, and will accept nothing less than their 'perfect vision'."

"So a control freak?"

"Auteur sounds better, it's the Twi'lek word for writer, or a creator in general."

The investigator gave a rather bored expression as she took another drink. "Wouldn't all directors be Auteurs then?"

"It comes from Twi'lek New Wave, a time after Endor when Ryloth was liberated from Imperial control and the native holo-making scene was bursting with new ideas. They developed a theory, that a director could tell the story of the film more than the screenwriter. That though their composition scene length, and editing, they conveyed the story more than the words on the page."

"I'm sure the writers loved that theory."

"It was a little controversial at the time. However now the popular interpretation has changed somewhat. Now it more or less means a director that takes exacting control of their production, often being the writer and editor along with being the director."

"Again, control freak."

"I never said you were wrong."

They fall silent the bar around them still rather quiet, it was pretty early in the morning to be drinking.

"So," she took another long sip of her drink, "My rate is 300 credits up front and 125 per day, plus business expenses."

"What's a business expense to you?"

"You know, standard things, trackers, lunches, hospital visits."

"You get injured?"

"Comes with the job,"

"And people pay these rates, even the indigent?"

Namaa was quiet, there were times that people needed help and couldn't pay her fee. In situations like that, she discounted, or merely took them at their word that they would pay it back, eventually. This has led to her not being paid at all but, that was the risk she took. Kaz on the other hand looked like he could pay, she wouldn't lower her rates.

"They pay if they want the job done. And I have rent to pay, office fees," she held up her bottle, "and other personal things."

"You're putting me a bind Ms. Yzalli." Kaz looked down a grin on his face.

"It sounds like you're already in one, Mr. Producer."

"Please, Mr. Producer is so formal, call me Allanar."

"Ok, Allanar, do we have a deal?"

Allanar gave a half smile extending his hand.

"We can work out the finer points later."

She took his hand and shook it in wordless agreement.

"Great when do you start?" Allanar asked.

"Right now." She answered nearly slamming her now empty bottle on the table. "Are you shooting nearby?" She asked as she got to her feet.

"Not exactly, production is shut down for today. The cast and crew are in their hotels." He rose to follow her a little surprised by her sudden movement to the door.

"We'll start there." She left the tab for her client to pay, it was a business meeting after all, and headed out into the cold O'Pahz morning. Again she pulled her jacket tight around herself trying to ward off the chill, keep in the slight warmth she felt from the alcohol flowing in her veins. She wasn't a heavy drinker but, it did help cloud her mind just enough, to forget things, to forget the cold.