It's probably a good thing that the briefing broke up right around then. Good for Haarmon anyway. His face flushed visibly at Shard's gentle touch and words. And his face went slack with surprise and his mouth hung open in a very non-badass manner.

As she left he shot to his feet and tried speaking once, twice, and managed only a couple of indeterminate grunts. He then tried on a smile or two and failed at that too. There followed a full moment of very uncharacteristic silence before he managed to utter one word, "Computer" at Juragga. Nodded. And all but fled the room, on the hunt for some kind of decent network terminal. Or at least the space to take a couple of deep breaths.

Juragga tilted his head and watched as Shard talked to Haarmon and then left.  His partner then proceeded to get very flustered, mentioning a need for a computer before leaving.

"UuuuuuRRRUHHHmmmph," Juragga growled lightly, expressing his understanding.

There was more going on with these hairless monkeys than met the eye.  He only hoped his friends would make it through... all of it.

One by one, people leave the briefing room.  Some head for their quarters to collect items they believe will be useful on the mission.  Others go to the Quartermaster to requisition items which are just as useful, but which they don't possess themselves.

The Quartemaster, one Darucha Kain is a short tempered man, who wants paperwork, correctly filled in, for every item, and repeats a number of times that all of the equipment must be fully accounted for upon the rebels' return from the mission.

Haarmon Dak, unlike the others, is led to a place where he can use the best computer on Defiance Base to search for intel on the mission objective.

Mark made his way to the quartermaster. There he requested several items: Cold weather gear, blaster carbine, extra powerpacks, armored vest, and a few grenades.

"I think this list of equipment is necessary. Let me know if you having anything special that might help me out."

Close by, Shard pours over her own paperwork.  Climbing gear.  Never know.  Blaster pistol with a couple of packs.  Cold weather gear.  What else could I need?  It seems like a lot to her.  And oh, a medipack.  Can't forget that.

With a moue of irritation, she finishes filling out the forms and passes them across to Kain.  "There you go.  All done." Cocking an eyebrow, she leans against the desk.  "Now...can I go back and grab my gear?" 

A short time later (assuming all goes well), Shard heads for the docking bay in search of their ship, a duffel bag of gear (and a bottle of spirits) over her shoulder.

Juragga wanders to the quartermaster somewhat downcast, expecting failure with the one and only piece of equipment he wants.  But, he figures, the only way to be SURE he can't get it, is not to ask.

"GRRRRRRRRROOOOOWWWrrrrr?" he inquires.  While the Colonel explained a Protocol Droid wasn't yet available, he was hoping something of a more limited translation device might be - strictly 'Wookiee to Standard', nothing fancy.  While Haarmon understood him, and could translate, he didn't want his trusted friend to be distracted playing translator when he should be working his magic on the enemy computers.

Vekkis heads straight back to the "Bold Gambit".  Most of the gear he'll need is already aboard, in the storage lockers.  But he does want to check, just to make sure he does have everything.  Apart from that he wants to prep the ship for launch, take delivery of any equipment which needs to be stowed in the hold, and check the best route to Alrirkr.  There's nothing like looking professional, in his opinion.

Fortunately, the ship looks to be in good condition just now.

As soon as he sits at the computer, Haarmon undergoes a subtle but pervasive transformation. His mouth loses its perpetual smirk and becomes a tight line. His hands and feet stop their relentless twitching. His shoulders relax. His eyes grow bright and his face tightens.

He mutters to himelf as he works, but this isn't the faux-quiet stage whispering mutter of a man looking for attention. This is the absent-minded vocalizing of someone so completey involved in his work that nothing, not the Rebellion, the Empire, not the quivering jittery residue of Shard's touch and words, not even himself, really. When Haarmon hits the Nets, there's really only his mind and the game. Just the work.

Requisition forms are turned in, and the quartermaster starts gathering equipment from shelves and storage bins.  It is noticeable, to even a casual observer, that those shelves and bins aren't exactly filled to capacity...

Within a relatively short time, everybody has what they were hoping for, or a close approximation thereof.  All of which, it's again made very clear, should be returned to the store after the mission so that other teams can get some use from them. 

As their requirements are filled, team members make their way to the docking bays, some of them collecting more gear from their quarters.  Eventually all find their way to Bold Gambit, where a consignment of explosives is currently being delivered...

Haarmon saunters into the loading bay. Off the computer now, his strut has returned, along with his smirk. He looks around to see who's arrived. He was anxious to relate what he'd learned to the others, especially Rhijans, who was already starting to cast a shadow across Haarmon's view of how a real badass ought to act and behave. Juragga would always be El Basass Numero Uno of course, but there was something very compelling about the way the pale man commanded respect without ever looking like he was trying. Or even cared.

And Shard, too of course. He was especially anxious to look useful in front of her.

"Well," he says to Vekkis, "I can't tell you a whole lot about troop movements and garrisons. They keep that info locked up tighter than Kessel. But I can tell you the whole shipping situation is such an administrative mess that we could practically park the whole Rebel Fleet in orbit and call it a rush delivery."

Rhijans was deep in conversation with the ordnance delivery group, getting safety tips on the best ways to ship the explosives and detonation equipment.  "Never put the detonators in the same package as the detonite until it's actually time to use it, stay away from the thermal detonators unless you're already leaving the area, and there's really no good, safe, way to ship explosives and detonators together," he repeated back, in summary.  He glanced down at the containers...the detonite was loaded in a cargo box labelled "INVERTOR CROSSOVERS", the timers and remote detonators were in another marked "SWITCH-OVER RELAYS"...and the thermal detonators were in a third, well-padded container marked "INDUCTION VALVES".  All three boxes were scarred up, scuffed, and well-worn...with the lids on, they looked exactly like something you'd expect to find in the parts locker of a tramp freighter.

Rhijans nodded in satisfaction.  "Button 'em up and ask Lund where he wants them...but make sure he knows they are NOT parts."  He hitched up the sling of the blaster carbine, and shifted his grip on the bundle of cold-weather clothing that he hadn't thought to requisition until the QM had asked what kind of tough-guy the gray-skinned man thought he was, since he was the only person who had requested gear for the mission that hadn't asked for exposure gear.

Juragga came sauntering into the bay with a 'cat-ate-the-cream' grin on his big furry face.  In addition to his bowcaster and a heavy duffel, the Wookiee held a silver-plated doo-hickey in his mitts.

"GrrrRRRAAAAAAAAAAAWWWwwwr," he caterwauled.

"Is good talk-disc, yes?" the disc translated for him.

Obscured nearly completely by the bulk of the Wookiee, Shard slips into the bay behind him, padding along on cat's feet.  She's prepared...well, probably not.  She knows the truth - everything falls apart the moment one starts bumping into the enemy's plans, because it's pretty certain they're not made to accomodate one's own.

But she can at least try to bring along the proper gear to play the game of Cover Your Rear.

Ducking out from Juragga's shadow (now knowing his name, having run a quick check on the quartermaster's list of people cleared to requisition for this mission), she raises an inquiring eyebrow at the small translater disk.  "Handy, that," the older woman admits, nodding.  "I can think of a few places one of those would have been useful...smart work."

She glances out across the bay.  Rhijans is, as usual, keeping things moving.  Haarmon appears to be in earnest conversation with Vekkis.  So far, so good; professional and clear of confusion.

She wonders how long that will last.

Mark Jacobs carried a duffel. "Ready and loaded." He seemed calm as if he enjoyed these missions.

Haarmon snorted at Juragga's translation disk. "Funny thing is, that's almost exactly what he said."

He watches the arrival of the other team members with some mounting alarm. They all had bags and cases of things with them. He didn't have anything. I mean, some of it was clearly 'war gear' and he didn't want or need anything like that. But he was certain he saw some cold weather equipment in there too. Should he have some too? Should he ask?

He didn't want to look like an idiot. But then he didn't want to freeze his pistol off when they got there too.

Torn by indecision (which one will get me laughed at the least?) he sort of sauntered over to Juragga, at a moment when he was far enough away from Rhijans and Shard that if the whole thing went bad he wouldn't look like a nerf-herder in front of either of them. He didn't want to look like a nerf-herder in front of Rags either. But at least he'd keep it quiet. And no one could understand him anyway.

"So," he started, voice low and pitched to be audible just to the two of them. "I was... you know... down in the command room on the computer terminal, right? Digging stuff up and getting things done? And I... um. Sort of didn't have time to get down to the requisition room, like. Is... um... that gonna be a problem? You think I should get down there now? Get some stuff, like?"

There. That should do it. His voice had some of its swagger, but nowhere near as much as it did in the briefing room. He kind of braced himself for the reaction.

The cargo of explosives, cunningly disguised as nondescript ship components, are loaded, carefully, aboard Bold Gambit, as the team start to gather again in preparation for lift-off.

Four men in hi-vis flight suits drop by and confirm to Vekkis Lund that their ships are prepped and ready to follow Bold Gambit up to orbit, just as soon as he's ready to go.  By the looks of the loading process, that shouldn't be much more than fifteen or twenty minutes away now.

Mark waited for everybody to arrive. When Haarmon got to the ship, Mark noticed that he didn't have a duffel. "Hey Haarmon, where's your gear?"

Anyone watching Haarmon at that very moment sees all the colour drain from his face and and his mouth hang open and his eyes go wide in fear. But to his credit it only lasts a second before he gives his head a shake and his face twists up in a dismissive smile and he shrugs in an overly-dramatic fashion, his eyes darting from Shard to Rhijans to Juragga in quick succession to see if anyone saw anything.

"Gear? Who's got time for gear? Who just spent the last few hours digging up the Emperor's last proctology exam, huh?" He kinds of steps away from Juragga as he talks, lest it look like he was soliciting advice from the Wookie, "Least someone could have done was pick me up some gear. Am I right?"

And with that he looks around at the men all over the ship, trying to decide if he has time to go down to the requisition room or not. But he doesn't know from loading procedures, and he's competely at a loss.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:55, Mon 16 May 2011.

Juragga was still fiddling with his new contraption when Haarmon walked up.  He made to reply when Jacobs asked where Dak's gear was, flustering the young man.

The Wookiee replied with a soft half-snarl that the translator latched onto.

"I have gear yes?" it said.

Shutting the doohickey down for the moment, Juragga rumbled aside to Haarmon in Wookiee.

Rhijans shrugged to himself.  He already knew the kid was new.  Holo-vid heroes aside, nobody who was as good as the kid claimed to be actually talked much about it.

But the kid had been busy.  Rhijans couldn't fault him for that.  He dropped his bundle at the base of the ship's ramp.  "Don't take off without me, okay?" he said, in the general direction of Shard and Jacobs, then turned to the kid.

"It's gonna be cold down there...let's go get you some gear.  Shouldn't take long, provided the quartermaster isn't too argumentative about it."  His tone was distant...but not unfriendly.  He gestured in the direction of the quartermaster's section of the base.

Shard keeps her face neutral as the men banter back and forth regarding gear, without accusing glances or - worse - laughter.  It happens, and from the sound of it, Haarmon has kept himself busy all the way up to lift-off.  No shame in that, no shame in missing experience, but she suspects he wouldn't see it that way if she pointed it out.

"Somebody always forgets the gear," she murmurs, not-quite-quietly.  "At least this time it wasn't me."  She glances up at the small knot of men, one eyebrow cocked.  "Two missions ago, missed half the briefing and ended up in the launch bay dressed like this.  We had to infiltrate a baron's estate on Raurtise, and it turns out I should have been dressed like a servant."  Standing, she waves a hand at her clothes.

"I ended up in the stables."

Now the hand waves to Rhijans.  "We have time - you two go grab what you need, I'll sit on the gangplank until you get back."

Now he was good and stuck. Not only did Shard and Rhijans both know he screwed up the gear thing (which was precisely the thing he was trying to avoid) and not only were they being nice about it (which was somehow even more humiliating that laughter), but he had to refuse their offers of help, thereby complicating the whole thing that much more.

He tried on a dismissive sneer, found it didn't quite fit. Tried a smarmy smile. No good. So he just sort of shrugged. "No, it's all good," he said, "Rags got me covered. He says he got me some stuff when he was down there. It's how we roll. Yeah? We're good for take-off. Or launch. Or whatever you call it. Thanks though."

And with that he takes a step back toward Juragga, almost as if to hide behind him. He sighed to himself. This was all so much easier with computers.

Rhijans shrugged.  "Good enough, kid.  If you're set, then let's get going.  The longer we wait, the more likely they are to get the place fully garrisoned."

He didn't fully buy the story that the Wookiee had gotten everything...but if they got down there and it proved to be that Rhijans was right, then Dak would likely be stuck on sentry duty with the ship, based on estimates of what the weather was like.  It was an Imperial installation, however, so there was a chance they'd gotten the whole thing to a climate-controlled state and all the harsh-weather gear everyone had picked up would be needless.  The Empire was big on extravagant measures...

He turned and walked back to the ship, grabbing his gear bundle and starting up the ramp.

Juragga rumbled softly, his translator still off, to Haarmon - next time, don't say anything, I got you covered, was the gist.

'Ragga was used to picking up after Dak, and if it was going to be like that, the kid might as well not suffer humiliation every time.  For Juragga, it gave him some peace to have someone to look after... his family taken by the Empire as it was.

Shard sighs - inwardly.  Outwardly, she gives Haarmon a nod.  "Fair enough."   Pride.  It trips them all up, herself included.  She doesn't have much left, but what she does fits like a well-worn glove.

Her knees ache when she stands.  Hefting her own bag of gear, Shard pads after Rhijan, already hurting for the flask inside her cloak.  Just a sip, just enough to get her out of orbit...but no.  She'll wait until they're out of orbit.  That long, no more.  Cutting back seems wise.

But in her heart, she knows that weaning herself off the bottle never works.