Yon the Butcher

[Yon the Butcher]

"Not so fast, meat-bag."

Distorted by the comm relay build into Yon's mask, the voice echoed strangely around the dim and darkened room. Though diminutive in side, Yon Trill cut an imposing figure, wrapped in head to toe with an armour-plated pressure suit that bore scuffs, and scars, and stains of blood. A deck plate clanked as Yon advanced a step, hands poised and ready at his sides, pincered fingers clicking together in anticipation. All of Yon's years, all of his experience and training, all his skill and knowledge had converged upon this one moment. Lawman, Findsman, hunter of beasts and of bounties; Yon was many things, and had been many things. Now though, only one thing mattered. Yon the Butcher was his now, and he would not allow his quarry to escape.

Yon saw a shift of movement in the shadows, and pounced with starting speed. A set of insectoid claws reached out and wrapped around the worn and weary fabric of the canvas sack, a chorus of frantic squeaks and screeches erupting from within. Yon used his body to pin the sack of raw meat in place - extremely raw, as was the Cizerack preference - before the produce was hoisted over Yon's shoulder, and slung across Yon's back.

"Yon told you, meat-bag," the Gand spoke. Something about the vocal distortion gave Yon's voice more depth and gravitas than one might expect from the usually thin and click-plagued voice of a Gand, and despite the featureless faceplate and the featureless face that lay beneath, Yon still managed to look satisfied and smug. A bump of Yon's pressure suit nudging against the squirm-filled sack as Yon began to walk, trudging Yon's way out from the storage room to the rear of Yon's shop. "Dead or aliive, you're coming with me."

There was a jovial gate to Yon's steps as the Gand emerged into the shop proper: the finishing touches were still being put in place, but the most benevolent and generous Yon the Butcher wasn't about to allow such trivialities to stop Yon from delivering Yon's meat to those who deserved it. There was a rattle as Yon's exoskeletal shell sucked in the precious gases that Yon needed to survive, the environmental systems pumping a replacement for the small volume that the Gand had just consumed. There was a certain satisfaction in the way Yon stood for a moment, surveying the decorations that the Cizerack were expediently putting in place. It was not ostentatious, not complex: a simple shop for a simple Gand. Yon's mouthparts clicked as Yon's vision settled upon the signage that the Cizerack were carefully installing in place.

YON'S SHOP
Fine and Exotic Meats
Smell My Greatness!

This was it. This was the beginning of the next stage in Yon's great journey. With satisfaction and glee, Yon waddled over to the Cizerack workers, and dumped the meat-sack unceremoniously on the ground amongst them. "Yon promised sustenance for Yon's workers," Yon announced, waving a clawed hand towards the offering he had delivered, "And Yon is a Gand of Yon's word."