Following along behind the others, Devon just grunted in response to Jamies instruction.

Mainly, Devon was actually doing his job - concentrating on the mission; staying in the surly character he'd chosen for himself and evaluating any vehicles he spotted; but there was a little bit of him that was paying no attention what so ever.  THAT bit of him was doing exactly what it had been doing during the simulation, and having a case of the jitters.

They're going to catch us, I'm going to screw up and we'll be caught... The fact that the pirates would likely just kill them rather than hand them over to the Imps was small concilation...  Devon didnt particular want either to happen.

Calm down. He told himself as they boarded the airbus Calm down.  The captain picked you for a reason.  He thinks your capable - he thinks you can do this.  And he's military, he should know, right?

Devon consoled himself with the fact that the Captain knew what he was doing, and focussed on his job; trying to ignore the slightly panicked little voice at the back of his mind.

The skybus was far from factory fresh.  The seats were covered in grim and burn marks.  Grafitti covered the walls of the bus and it smelled like a herd of banthas had wandered in, releived themselves and then died.

The passengers were a mix of dregs, lower class citizens and local toughs.  None paid Jamie's group much heed as they climbed aboard and sat down.  Each person got on and off like automatons.

The bus driver made up for the drudgery.  A Bothan with an unnaturally cheery demeanour he treated his skybus more like a tour bus.  He kept a running dialogue of all the cantina, brothels and other entertainment venues as he drove, going into many a tale of his adventures at each.

But it was none of these that gained the group's attention but a sight to be seen as they neared the eastern end of the city.  A moderate0sized starport was to be seen.  It boasted several hangers and a large freight facility.  Its security fair exceeded the starport where the group's shuttle was berthed.  High fences withguard towers in the corners stretched the length of the perimeter.  Two well armed guard stood at the main entrance whilst other patrolled the grounds.

The Bothan driver did not disappoint with his commentary.

"Blood Axe Trading Corporation is the largest industry on planet and is responsible for the majority of this fair city's income.  They trade in all manner of goods, importing just about everything you can imagine."

"Look there they go on another trading run."

Indeed as they watched a group of four Cloakshape fighters and two Z-95 Headhunters rose from the ground, escorting a troop transport.  Whilst such transports could be used for carrying cargo, this one looked more suited for docking with ships in space and allowing shock troops to raid the hapless vessel.  The vessel was pure predator no matter what they called it.

The driver had already begun talking about the next spot they would be stopping, which apparently served the best Keldon Skive this side of Malastaire.  He was still contemplating this as he pulled into the next terminal.

Jamie eyed the predator-ship and the fighters warily as they passed the Corporation HQ.  As the driver pulled into the next terminal, he approached the Bothan and asked "Where can I find a Blood Axe sales representative?"
Just ask straight out, he thought to himself.  You'll attract more attention by explaining yourself too much...

"Looking for a charter or work hmm?  From the looks of ya I'd say the latter.  I hear them Blood Axe's are picky.  YOu could just walk up to the front gate and ask but that could get your head impaled on a force pike.  Also heard they hang out at the local cantinas but don't ask me which.  They don't take da bus much."

"Okay, so I need work," Jame said.  "Thanks for your help."
Jamie returns to the others and says "We're gonna visit a cantina."
He leads the others out of the bus, into the terminal.  He walks to the nearest civilian and runs a hand through his purple hair.  "'Scuse me...where's the nearest cantina?"

Christian listens to the conversation with interest, though to the outside eye, he looked like another traveler on the shuttle, looking out to the city.

He looked at jamie and nodded.

Nirro just continues to look out of the window noting the fact that the Blood Axe's had fighters.

After a quick consultation with the driver, Jamie receives the directions to the Spicy Lady cantina.  From the reviews the bus driver gives it you would think it was world-famous.  The ale is the finest, the entertainment top class the clientele are the elite.

A short walk later the group learns the truth.  The Spicy Lady sits in a poorly-lit street, whose shadows keep the area from showing its true filth, even in the middle of the day.  The streets are littered with prosititutes, beggars and disreputable folk.  Many of them watch the newcomers, who are clearly look out of place in such an area, but none approach them.

The inside of the cantina is no better.  The place reeks of spilt ale, vomit and the sweat of dozens of mixed species confines in a poorly ventilated area.  Every pice of furniture has been broken and repaired countless times.  Behind the bar hangs an antiquated, but lethal looking slugthrower.  Judging from the walls, the bartender has used it to keep order on several occasions.

Being the middle of the day the bar is only half-full.  Various career drunks sit alone on stools or at small tables.  Various groups of folk stay huddled in quiet conversation, and at one table a mixed group of aliens are engrossed in a game of sabacc which is quite rowdy and seemingly high stakes.

The group finds a table big enough to seat them all and settles in.

Nirro looks around the cantina when he walks in. Reminds me of home he says somewhat under his breath. He walks over to the table sits down puts his feet up on and unused chair/stool and looks around very carefully. he tries to notice anyone approaching. He takes his blaster out of its holster and holds it in his lap using his shirt to try and conceal it.

Sprawled out in his chair wth his legs stretched out in front of him, Devon favours the bar in general with a sour expression.

'Spent most my time sat in places like this when I couldnt get work, back before I signed on with- ' the Alliance was what Devon nearly said, but he stopped himself in time. '- the Crusaders.' he finished.

Devon looked round the bar again, not letting his gaze linger anywhere too long.    Apparantly noting everyone, making eye contact with anyone who happened to look at him - letting them know he was aware of them, but not holding their gaze long enough for it to be taken as a challange.  It was a pose he had learned back in his pre-alliance days; some, well most of the business dealings he'd been part of had been less than honest and he'd learned that generally it paid to look meaner than you really were.

Christian's face a neutral slate, his eyes tak8ing note of the slugthrower.  Christian sits oppisite Nirro, his arms crossed on the table.  "I've seen worse." he mutters to no one in partictular.

Christian gazed around the room, trying to take stock of dangerous people who either could fight toe-to-toe, or had possible weapons with a look that looked like he was just looking around.

Christian sniffed and scratched the side of his head.  He turned to the bar and looked at the bartender.   

He looks back at Jamie and Nirro and whispers to them.  "That slugthrower looks to be well cared for..and well used.  Lets not get a first hand demo of it, hey guys?"

"I like your ideas, Christian..."
Jamie looked around the bar, barely supressing his disgust.  His father had kept him away from places like this to increase his chances of being accepted into the Academy.
"Everyone get comfortable.  Mingle a little," he said where all his teammates could hear, yet mostly to himself.

"Arrgghh!  You rotten little dragnap!"  A shout errupts from the sabacc game.  The large elephantoid alien looked like he could simply step on his opponents for an easy win.

"Ahahaha!  That my friend is how you play sabacc!"  The small squib countered without a shred of fear as he raked in his winnings.

The bartender, a stocky human who looked like he wasn't going any further in life, gazed in that direction and eased towards his slugthrower.  A moment later he returned to his work satisfied the scene wasn't going to get out of hand.  The game continued on.

A sullustan waitress passed by the table Christian and Nirro had choosen.  "What'll it be boys?"  She asked in a cheery voice.

Jamie looked from the sabacc game to the waitress.  "I'll take a Tatooine Sunrise," he said.
Bartender seems jumpy, he thought, looking around at the other patrons.

"Well, you just keep your cute little tushy in that chair and that will be right out."  She smiled at Jamie and waited for any other orders before heading off to fill them.

A strange noise started from a small stage in the corner.  It was more like a platform built less than a meter off the ground occupying about as much space as the table they sit on.  A moaning crooning drunk of a man had sat on the chair on the stage and had started droning on into the mic that hung from a wire from the ceiling.

"Rylie, oh my sweetie Rylie,
come back to me, OH RYLIE.
Rylie, my life is little without thee,
come back to me, OH RYLIE.
Rylie, the bottle can't compete with ye,
come back to me, OH RYLIE."

The sad Zabak that was the entertainment for the hour droned on.  He looked drunk and the group was probably glad they were not right next to the stage.  The high notes at the end of the line certainly hurt the ear and any flying debris was unlikely to hit them by mistake.

When Jaime ordered his drink Nirro thought about it for a second and diceded to be boring. I'll have a Juma juice please he said to the waitress giving her a wink.

"Ah.... yea..."  She seemed genuinely let down with Nirro's order.  "One kiddie drink coming right up."  With no further orders forthcoming, she turned to retrive the drinks.

A few of the other occupants could be seen cringing at the singer.  A trio of Bith at another table were nodding their heads appreciably and tapping their feet to the slow beat.

The drinks are delivered with minimal fuss and conversation by the barkeep.  The drinks come in dirty, chipped glasses or in bottles that have clearly been stolen or bought from smugglers.  Nobody pays much attention to the group whatsoever.

Wincing at the occasional high note that were setting his teeth on edge, Devon glanced around the bar again.

"So, what now?" he asked.  "I mean, we took the tour an' saw the sights," Devon traced the outline of a cloakshape fighter in a puddle of stale beer on the table.  "So do want to set up business here or look elsewhere?"

OOC:  We seem to have a severe lack of posting in this area.  What's the problem?

OOC: sorry :P
Jamie looks around the room, assessing possible connections.  "Christian, go try to join that sabaac game over there.  Try to keep the stakes low, 'cuz I'll probably be the one reimbursing you.  Make a few connections, but don't look suspicious.  If anyone asks, you and your team are looking for contract work.  Devon, you check for back doors.  I'd like to know our options.  Nirro, stand up and stretch your legs a bit.  Make sure you can see who's in the dark corners.  Let me know if anyone looks suspicious."

Nirro nods to Jaime and sits down sippinig his juice for a couple of minutes before getting up and stretching. He walks off a little from the table and quickly scans the room. He saunters up to the bar and strikes up a conversation with anyone who happens to be nearby. His eyes scan the room periodically as he tries to see as many people as possible.

OOC: Apologies

Devon sat for a few minutes so that he wouldnt be leaving the table at the same time as Nirro.  Muttering something about needing to use the facilities, Devon stood and slouched through the obvious doorway.

Exploring, Devon found himself in what passed for the cantinas kitchen, where he got shouted at by someone in a grease covered apron.  After shouting something suitable back - maintaining his cover personality as a surly type, Devon wandered off to see what else he could find.

Christian wanders over to the sabacc table.  Initally they are hesitant to let a stranger join their game but soon allow him to join him.  This seems less to do with any diplomatic skill on Christian's part, but more his inability to play sabacc.  His tally of lost credits quickly begins to pile up.

The others had moved off to their respective corners when a loud bellowing came from the kitchen area.  Devon came out with a burly Trandoshan chasing him.  The creature is weilding a large cleaver and shouting loudly.

"You know belong in here.  Stay out of my kitchen or you be tomorrow's stew of the day!"

The bellowing immediately has Devon being closely scrutinised by all the patrons in the cantina.



OOC:  For your benefit I am making rolls for each of these encounters and this is what is dictating the results.  Christian has no skill in gambling just as Devon has none in bluff/disguise/entertain/diplomacy/etc.  A score of 0 doesn't help much unfortunately.

So now Devon has just been chased out of the kitchen whilst Christian is successfully losing money.  This may help him with further intel gathering but wont do the groups funds much good!

OOC:  haha!  I quite enjoyed that in my own strange way... watching Devon get shouted at makes a pleasant change from Jury duty, which is where I am currently spending most my days...

Scowling after the Trandoshan cook, Devon grumbled another surly protestation of innocence; before glaring sullenly round at the other patrons of the bar.

Slouching over to the bar, Devon leaned on the counter next to Nirro; muttering something to him about Trandoshan cooks with no patience before asking the barman where the hell the toilet was.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:12, Wed 12 July 2006.